41 Down is Saturday
by LuckyLadybug
Summary: Sequel to Don't Go Out On Friday Night. The police have been handed a disturbing case of crossword puzzles to solve or buildings will be destroyed. At the same time, the Riddler appears, alive again, much to Batman and Yin's shock and then relief. But others aren't as happy to see him back and will do anything they can to make trouble, even to falsely implicate him in the crimes.
1. Chapter 1

**The Batman**

**41 Down is Saturday**

**By Lucky_Ladybug**

**Notes: The characters are not mine and the story is! I don't know if anyone's still here who remembers, but every now and then I still get notifications that someone has Favorited my story **_**Don't Go Out On Friday Night**_**, so I suppose there is still some interest. I have always meant to write a sequel to that story, but other things have kept getting in the way. Suddenly, this week, I woke up with the urge to really do it this time. In the first chapter I will recap just a bit of the first story, which involved the Riddler working with The Batman and the police to catch a serial killer he had tried to catch three years previous. And since stories for other **_**Batman**_** verses get plopped into this category sometimes, I should probably mention that this story really is for the cartoon **_**The Batman**_**, the one that aired on Kids WB. I loved it and their overhaul of the Riddler, and it will probably always be my **_**Batman**_** verse of choice to play in.**

**Chapter One**

The Friday Night Killer had been caught.

He had been revealed as the Chessmaster, a disturbed man with a personal grudge against the Riddler—so personal that every one of his targets had been someone the Riddler had once met, even if only briefly in passing on the street or in a store.

Three years ago, he had murdered the Riddler's uncle. The Riddler had gathered information on the crimes and had come closer to catching him than the police had. When the Chessmaster resumed killing after a three-year absence, the police had in desperation turned to the Riddler for help.

It had proved fruitful; the Riddler had unraveled some of the man's mysteries and, together with Batman, they had at last cornered the Chessmaster at the old Gotham Power and Light building. But it had been a deathtrap, something the Chessmaster had never intended for any of them to leave alive.

In the end, the Riddler had pulled a switch that had electrocuted both him and the Chessmaster in order to stop the Chessmaster's mass murder from taking place.

The Chessmaster had survived, albeit driven out of any remaining scraps of sanity from being unable to complete his revenge.

The Riddler, having already suffered a violent beating and two prior electric shocks during the battle, had not.

Detective Ellen Yin rolled over on her couch, staring blankly across the room at the wall. It had been a long day at work and she had just barely come home. And for reasons she wasn't even fully sure of, she was thinking about that fateful night again.

The Riddler was arrogant, vain, and he had caused more than one problem for her and the police force in the past. Yet she had learned things about him on the Friday Night Killer case that she had never expected—some small part of the heartaches and betrayals he had suffered in his life, his continuing love for the one who had betrayed him most deeply, and the level of goodness left in his twisted and scarred heart.

Had it been goodness that had led him to his death? He could have simply wanted his final revenge on the Chessmaster for murdering his uncle, and for killing so many other people he had met. Batman had speculated on that, and it certainly sounded in keeping with the Riddler's vindictive character.

But it was alternately possible that he was sick of so many senseless killings and wanted to prevent any more. He had been horrified when he had realized the reason why the Chessmaster had murdered all those people. He hadn't wanted to feel responsible in any way for their deaths.

It was oddly true, that the Riddler had never actually endangered countless, random lives. The first time Yin had met him, he had given the impression that the city was in danger. But instead, there had only been lime Jell-O in the canisters set around town. It had been a distraction to keep everyone from realizing his real crime: stealing information from Gotham's supercomputers. It certainly wasn't right, but it was worlds apart from actually being willing to send thousands of people to their deaths.

He _had_ endangered certain specific people, however, from Yin herself to Batman and the people who had been his main enemies—Charles Gorman and Julie.

Yin's eyes narrowed. She didn't like Julie. Neither did Batman. The Riddler had truly loved her and trusted her, yet she had betrayed him and sabotaged their project in college just so that she could have success without him and he would be discredited. More recently, she had stolen another of his ideas and, along with Gorman, had tried to have it marketed.

Yin sighed, turning to stare up at the ceiling. Julie was still in the hospital, recovering from being shot twice by the Chessmaster in an attempt to make her one of his victims. The day after the final battle, Yin had gone to see her. She wasn't sure how she had expected the meeting to go, but Julie certainly hadn't impressed her during it.

_Yin was not sure what she had been expecting to see when she entered the hospital room. All she had known beforehand was that Julie had regained consciousness and was out of immediate danger. She was still on painkillers for the bullets she had taken, but she seemed fairly alert at some parts of the day. Judging from the look Yin was now receiving, she had come at the right time._

_Julie was lying in the bed, her red hair spread out on the pillow instead of tucked into its neat bun. She had started to wear her glasses during the times she was awake and now was studying Yin through the lenses. Various emotions flickered across her face—confusion, apprehension, and a bit of defensiveness._

_Yin crossed her arms. "You're looking better," she said. "The Riddler would be glad to see that."_

"_The Riddler . . ." Julie repeated. It seemed strange to hear him called that; he was always Edward to her, no matter whether he was wearing a jumpsuit and a mask or not._

"_Why are you here?" she asked. She recognized Yin as a police detective who had been involved in this madness. But there was nothing more she could tell the police about what had happened at the laboratory. By now it mattered little anyway; the Chessmaster had been caught, as well as most of his minions._

"_I came to see if it's true that you're getting along better," Yin answered. She did not really want to be there; Julie disgusted her. But there was something she had come to tell the other woman, something she supposed Julie needed to know. Yet she was not there to do any favors. She had come for her own personal reasons. She wanted to see whether what she had to say would mean anything to Julie._

"_. . . What's going to happen when I'm well enough to leave?" Julie's voice was steady and quiet._

"_If I had my way, you'd be going to jail," Yin said. "But it doesn't look like that's going to happen. We can't prove you stole the Riddler's idea again."_

_And that was something that had been missing; Edward had not come. Julie had wondered whether he was planning to, since he had gone to the trouble of trying to save her. That certainly had not gone well, either; she had still been shot, in spite of his best efforts._

"_Is he in the asylum again?" Julie wondered._

_Yin's eyes narrowed. "He didn't do anything wrong . . . this time. We didn't have any reason to hold him."_

"_Oh." Julie sounded slightly surprised, but otherwise unaffected. "He was dressed up like that . . . I thought he was probably going back to crime."_

"_I don't know what he had in mind," Yin said in truth._

_Julie was not certain what to say. Something told her that the detective was here for a reason other than to check on her well-being. But instead of saying what it was, it felt as if she wanted Julie to say or do something first. And Julie did not know what that would be._

_Finally, Yin gave up. Julie was not going to ask how he was. Yin would just have to let the bomb drop anyway. "Edward Nygma is dead."_

_Julie stiffened. She looked back to Yin, her eyes wide in disbelief. But then she settled back into the bed, processing the news._

"_Was he doing something reckless again?" she said at last._

_Yin's expression only darkened. "He was upset because you had been shot," she said. "He thought you'd been killed."_

"_So he confronted the Chessmaster psychopath and was killed instead?" Julie retorted._

"_He confronted the Chessmaster," Yin agreed, "but in the end he sacrificed himself to save several people who were endangered." Herself included. But Julie did not need to know that._

_Julie looked down at the thin blanket. "I didn't think he was that type," she said._

"_He did what he felt had to be done," Yin said. "Does his death mean anything to you at all?"_

_Frankly, Julie did not know. She was more inclined to say that it did not. Her conscience was nagging at her again for having treated him the way she had, but she pushed it aside. At least now he would not be able to interfere with her pursuit of success._

"_It seems to mean something to you," she said instead, with a slight smirk._

"_I know he was a good man," Yin found herself saying. Words she had never imagined she would be uttering in connection with the Riddler._

"_It never would have worked out between you two," Julie said, still with the smirk. "You're too independent for him, just as he would have been for you. And his riddles would have driven you crazy."_

_Yin frowned. She did not care about the Riddler in that way. She did not even know that she thought of him as a friend. But he had been better than he had usually let on, and it bothered her that Julie did not seem to care at all about what had happened to him._

"_He still loved you," she retorted aloud. "Right to the end, even though he knew it was pointless and you weren't worth it, he loved you."_

_Julie looked away. For a moment, brief guilt registered on her face. Why? Because she actually did feel regret? Or because she knew she had not been able to return his feelings for her?_

_Yin turned, heading for the door again. She did not plan to tell Julie about the strange message left when the Riddler's body had disappeared. Commissioner Gordon did not think that was something that should get out. Batman wondered if the Riddler himself was still alive, but Yin herself doubted the likelihood of it. Most likely the Riddlemen had stolen the body and left the message to make it look like the Riddler had left of his own accord._

_Julie did not say anything as Yin slipped out the door._

_Yin doubted that any tears fell once she was alone._

Yin scowled, pushing herself off the couch. It was ridiculous to be thinking about the Riddler again. He was gone, never to return this time. She could only hope that wherever he was now, he had found peace at last.

She sighed to herself as she wandered into the small kitchenette in her apartment. Maybe she had started thinking about him tonight because the case she had just been handed was a real doozy, something that the Riddler probably would have loved.

Chief Rojas was endlessly frustrated by it. He hated riddles, and crossword puzzles, and now they had a madman who had given them an ultimatum: solve his crossword puzzle within the week or Gotham City would be in shambles. He would send the police department one part of the puzzle every day until they had it all. He would also destroy a building every day they didn't get the puzzle pieces right.

The first pieces, he had said, he would fill in for them. And those had left the entire department _and_ Batman utterly bewildered.

_Who is Catherine?_

Those were the words fit into the three sections of the puzzle that had been sent. Now their mission was to figure out what Catherine was being referred to before their next contact tomorrow night.

"The Riddler would know how to find out," Yin muttered to the empty room as she poured a glass of orange juice.

But the Riddler wasn't there. And after Yin had some much-needed sleep, she would be in for a day of puzzling over this madness with Batman and Commissioner Gordon. Batman was good at riddles, too. This one puzzled him, but he would surely come up with the answer.

Batman hadn't been the same since the Riddler's death, either. He blamed himself, considering it a failure that he had not been able to stop the Chessmaster before the Riddler had taken that drastic step. Hugo Strange had once said that Batman had a compulsion to rescue people. It was true, and after failing to save the Riddler, he had become all the more determined to not let failure happen again. He would probably stay up all night researching people named Catherine in the Gotham area.

Finishing her drink, Yin rinsed the glass and left it in the dish drainer. She didn't plan to stay up all night, since she was off-duty and since they had twenty-four hours to work on the Catherine problem before they were given a crossword section they had to actually fill in. The week promised to be long and hard. If she was going to have any hope of sleep, she had better try it now. She might not have many other chances over the next few days.

She just hoped the Riddler wasn't going to haunt her dreams as well as her waking moments. He had already done plenty of that in the days after he had died.

xxxx

The sign outside said Edward Nashton, Consultant and Troubleshooter. It was simple and rather drab and it was hanging at an angle. It had started to slip after one of the Eastern Seaboard's infamous rainstorms two days earlier and its owner had not bothered to fix it yet.

Inside, the office was much like that of the standard private investigator—a desk, a hat rack, and a computer. And one very tired consultant and troubleshooter slumped over the keyboard, his green-and-black suit rumpled and his long, dark hair splayed in all directions.

He was dreaming of a time not that long ago, really, and yet almost quite literally in another lifetime for him.

_The morgue wasn't that difficult to break into. The Riddlemen knew how to do it without drawing a great deal of attention to themselves. Anyway, morgues didn't tend to have the highest security. After all, how many people would break into such a center of the dead?_

_The Riddlemen knew exactly what they wanted here. They just weren't entirely sure where it was located._

_Several freezers drawers were extracted before they found the one they wanted. Then, pleased but sobered, one of them bent down and lifted the lifeless body, sheet and all._

_Another Riddleman was going through the envelopes containing personal effects. Locating the desired one, he whisked it away, along with the golden cane propped against the wall._

_A third Riddleman took care of the final order of business—a sheet of paper on which a cryptic riddle had been written. This he deposited in the freezer drawer they were robbing. Then, with a flick of the light switch and a turn of the doorknob, they departed._

_They were following their master's instruction to the letter, instructions given to them in secret several days before, when he had been released from Arkham Asylum and the madness had started._

"_**If anything happens to me over the next few days, break into the morgue and take my body. Also remove everything that belongs to me. And leave this sheet of paper in the location where you find my body. If this works, they'll know I'm still out there, somewhere. Someday we will meet again. If it doesn't work, well . . . at least they'll never know for certain that I have been defeated for good. They will always wonder. Then the Riddler will achieve some semblance of immortality, kept alive in spirit if not in body."**_

_He was vain, but also very human. He did not want to be forgotten. And if no one truly cared about him, as he was certain no one did, the only way to be remembered was to stay notorious in their minds—a threat with the promise of a return, someday, sometime._

_The Riddlemen continued to follow his instructions as they drove to another of his many hideouts and slipped inside, inputting the codes to allow them access to the various rooms. Finding the one they sought, they locked themselves inside and set about bringing the large and mysterious machine in the center of the room to life._

_The Riddleman bearing the body laid it carefully down on the cushioned slab. Others strapped it down, affixing electrodes in place as the controls were adjusted and then activated._

_At first there was no response. They had been warned it might not work on the first try, and to keep trying until it was clear that there was no hope, increasing the voltage each time._

_The one they were trying so diligently to revive was watching them in spirit, standing to the side and observing the proceedings with morbid fascination._

_Of course it was not working. And it was not like him to experiment with matters of reviving the dead. He was overall much more interested in improving the living mind. But this had been a special case; he had built the machine out of his grief and sorrow over his uncle's brutal murder. His uncle had been the only person who had truly cared about him. And he still could have had many years to live. It was only right, in his nephew's mind, to try to bring him back._

_It **should have** worked, really. He had successfully revived a cat and a dog, once. But he had never had any success in using the machine on people, including his uncle. So he had sealed it away and done nothing more with it, knowing it was really unwise to tamper with such things and wanting to turn his attention to other matters. Yet when he had realized that his death was quite possibly imminent, he had decided it was worth one final try, on himself._

_The electrodes sparked and the body jerked. Still there was no indication that a return to life would be any more possible this time than those times in the past. He turned away with a resigned air._

"_**Ed."**_

_He stiffened in surprise. That was his uncle's voice. He whirled to look, but saw nothing._

"_**Ed, you can't play around with life and death. It doesn't work that way."**_

_He looked back to the machine, and his own body eerily upon it. **"It should,"** he exclaimed in dark indignation and frustration. **"Why should anyone have to have their life cut drastically short instead of living a long, full existence? That's a riddle no one has been able to answer satisfactorily since the beginning of time. There ****is**** no satisfactory answer!"**_

"_**Your machine will work this time. This one time. The only reason you were able to bring back those animals was because it wasn't their time to go yet. It ****was**** my time to go, Ed. That's why you couldn't do anything for me or the others you tried this out on.**_

"_**But you weren't supposed to die tonight. You'll be given another chance."**_

_His eyes widened. **"Why me and not you?"** he cried.** "You were an honest man, the only really decent influence in my life. And you believed in me, unlike everyone else."**_

"_**I don't have the answers, Ed. I wish I did. But just hang in there. You don't have to be a criminal. It's not your only way out. You proved that this past week."**_

"_**I was taking my revenge for your murder, something I wasn't able to do before!"**_

"_**And you were trying to protect a lot of lives."** There was a smile in the voice. **"Even if you can't believe that about yourself, that was part of it too."**_

_He bowed his head. **"Perhaps . . . perhaps it was."**_

"_**You're not the worst Gotham has to offer, not by a long shot. You'll find your way. I know you will."**_

_Then the voice was gone and **he** was gone and instead he was waking up inside his body, gasping for breath, his eyes flying open._

_He was alive._

He started awake, muttering to himself as he pushed himself up from the keyboard. The keys had made indentions in his cheek again. Really, he should put a couch in here.

It was strange, he mused to himself. Electricity had killed him and electricity had brought him back to life.

Or God had brought him back to life; that seemed to be what his uncle had intimated.

He had never been a big believer in God, really. He had always believed in cold, hard science. And certainly after he had turned to crime he had not imagined that any God would have anything to do with him.

But here he was, alive and well, and trying to see if he could possibly make a living _not_ being the Riddler. He hadn't tried that since his uncle had arranged for him to be admitted to Gotham University, something that had soundly failed thanks to Julie's betrayal.

He wasn't sure yet why he was trying again, or why he was using an alias; he had been granted immunity for his part in catching the Chessmaster. Perhaps it was because if he failed under this name, he would still have another to fall back on.

But of all things, a consultant and "troubleshooter"? Basically, he was doing the work of a vigilante or a private investigator, behind the guise of a sign innocuous enough to not draw suspicion. He liked riddles and puzzles and had decided such a career was worth a try, especially since he believed in harsh justice for those worse than he. Still, he really didn't know if this was an experiment that would work.

He had been keeping tabs on all the cast of characters who had made up the inner circle of his life, particularly Batman, Yin, Gorman, and Julie. Batman and Yin wondered about the riddle that had been left in the morgue, but it seemed to him that they and his enemies were getting along just fine without him. Although Batman seemed a bit harsher of late. And Yin seemed somewhat more short-tempered.

Naturally Batman would hate to fail in protecting someone. But he would feel that way about anyone; it certainly wasn't a sign of actually caring about his old enemy. And Yinsey, well . . . it was probably something similar with her. He wouldn't expect anything else.

Of course, Gorman would dance on his grave, if he had one. As for Julie . . .

He clenched a fist. He did not want to think about Julie.

The door opened and he came to attention. A young girl, her light brown hair pulled back in the bun (so similar to Julie's hairstyle), came into the room and suddenly gasped in surprise, her eyes widening.

"Not what you expected?" He leaned forward, lacing his fingers and displaying the black nail polish. He smirked, the matching black lipstick stretching across his face.

"No," the girl stammered. "You're not." She reached up, as though to keep her wide-brimmed white hat from falling backwards off her head.

He shrugged. "Well, that's what you get when you come to an unconventional place of business."

She snapped back to herself. "Unconventional or not, I've been told you're one of the best." She came forward, placing her white-gloved hands on the edges of the desk.

He smiled. "I can't deny that."

"Good. But what exactly does a consultant and troubleshooter do?"

He leaned back. "You _do_ know what a troubleshooter is, I trust."

"Someone who finds what's wrong and fixes it." Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"Exactly. And a consultant offers advice."

She studied him with a scrutinizing eye. "You sound a lot like a private detective to me."

"Yes, but I would have to work for three years under someone else to obtain a private investigator's license." He smirked again. "I wanted to set up shop right away and be my own boss, and to see if that would be possible without actually breaking any laws from an outside standpoint. I don't need a license to be a 'consultant'." He peered at her. "Does any of that bother you?"

"Not really. You seem like someone who will get the job done. In the end, that's all I want."

"Then we understand each other."

She paused. "Do you take any job you're offered?"

"I'm not that desperate," he said boredly. "It has to be a job worthy of my talents."

"I believe this one will be." She brought a chair over and sat down in front of him. "My name is Catherine and I need your help. Someone is trying to kill me. And they're using the police department to ferret me out!"

"Ooh. That sounds intriguing." He stood, crossing to the water pitcher against the wall. After pouring a cup for himself and one for her, he held hers out. "Drink?"

She accepted.

He went back to his desk and sat down, very attentive. "Now, tell me everything."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_Who is Catherine?_

_Who is __**Catherine?**_

Bruce Wayne sat at the computer, his hands flying over the keys as he puzzled over the mystery the police department had been handed tonight. Part of him wanted to say that this was impossible and ridiculous and their mysterious criminal couldn't really expect them to find one Catherine in Gotham out of the literal hundreds there were.

But he had the feeling that was exactly what was intended. There was some specific, special girl named Catherine, who was likely in Gotham or the surrounding area, and the police were being pressured to find her. He knew there were detectives on this case around the clock. And he had certainly appointed himself as another interested party wanting in on the mystery.

_Catherine Bates, entrepreneur. . . ._

_Catherine Garfield, Congresswoman. . . ._

_Catherine Molly, real estate agent. . . ._

Which one?

It could even be a Catherine far more difficult to pick out, a housewife or secretary or someone else hidden deep within the cogs of Gotham City.

He frowned. To expect them to come up with the right answer within twenty-four hours, whoever was behind this must know that the Catherine in question was someone who could be found without too much trouble. And yet, for a puzzle, the most obvious choice was rarely the right one.

The same as with riddles.

He scowled at the computer.

"Hey . . . you're still up?"

He turned at the sound of Dick Grayson's confused voice. The boy was standing in the doorway, dressed for bed but seeming wide-awake.

Bruce looked back to the computer. "This mystery has to be solved before tomorrow night," he said. "When the police are sent pieces of the crossword puzzle that are blank, it's very likely that the identity of Catherine will play into the solution for those pieces. And they'll need to already have the right Catherine so that they can devote their full attention to the new pieces within the allotted amount of time."

Dick frowned. "Yeah, but . . . how is anyone going to find the right Catherine by tomorrow night? Do you know how many Catherines there are here?"

"Only too well." Bruce looked through the information entry for the next one on the list. They all blurred before his eyes after a while.

"And you've got no idea who's put everyone up to this?" Dick stood and watched. He was worried about Bruce; the man was putting himself under so much strain lately. Dick was really wondering when the last time was that he had had a decent sleep.

"No idea. Probably someone new."

"Crossword puzzles . . . that kind of reminds me of the Riddler." Dick knew he was taking a chance by bringing that character up. But he also knew that it was directly because of the Riddler's death that this change in Bruce had come about. Even if the cryptic riddle left in the morgue meant that the Riddler was still out there somewhere, Bruce knew it wasn't because of anything he himself had done. And he hated his failure.

Bruce stiffened. "I know," he said. "It sounds like him."

Dick hesitated. "You don't think it could be him, do you?" he asked slowly.

Bruce's gaze bored into the computer screen. "He's dead."

"I thought you wondered if he could have survived," Dick said. "I mean, with the riddle and all."

"Most likely a smokescreen left by the Riddlemen so we'd never know if he was really dead." Bruce typed a few commands into the computer and it brought up the next page of the list.

"Maybe."

Bruce never looked back as he asked, "Why are you so determined to tie this in with the Riddler?"

"I'm not determined," Dick objected. "He just seems like the logical choice for who's doing this."

"Unless there's dessert gelatin in the buildings that are going to be blown up, that's unlikely."

That brought Dick down the stairs and over to the console. "So first it can't be him because he's dead, and now it can't be him because he wouldn't blow up buildings?"

"He doesn't endanger random innocent people. Didn't you learn anything from the Friday Night Killer case?"

Dick rocked back. "Yeah," he said slowly.

"You've got a History test tomorrow. You should go to bed."

"Okay, I'm going." Dick headed back towards the stairs, but paused. "I kind of wish the Riddler wasn't dead," he announced. "Then maybe you wouldn't be so grouchy all the time."

Bruce paused. "It wouldn't change that there was nothing I could do."

"Yeah, but . . . you can't save the whole world," Dick said quietly. "Not even the whole city."

Bruce clenched a fist. He knew that very well. And this wasn't even the first time he hadn't been able to save someone. Why _was_ it affecting him so strongly?

He wondered if part of it was that for one of the only times, he had encountered a villain with the real potential and even the desire to change. He had felt for the Riddler for some time, having learned his backstory and realizing that at least some part of him didn't want to be a villain. He had felt that all other options had been closed to him, especially after Julie had betrayed and ruined him, leaving his reputation in a shambles. Then, during the Friday Night Killer case, there had been the promise of immunity if he would help them, the chance to try again to live a normal life. And instead he had eventually given up his life, for whatever reason, and Bruce, as The Batman, had been helpless to stop it.

He had fought so long and so hard to save Ethan Bennett from the Clayface persona that the Joker had induced on him. Several times he had thought there was hope, only for it to be dashed. It had seemed that Ethan was too far buried under clay and hatred and confusion. He didn't _want _to change, as the Riddler had. Eventually Bruce had lost all hope. But Ethan had surprised him in the end, finally regaining control of himself and even defeating a second Clayface.

Sometimes Bruce wondered if Ethan would have found his way back sooner if Bruce hadn't given up hope.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. There was no sense thinking about this now. He needed to focus on finding the right Catherine.

He glanced over his shoulder at the stairs. Of course, Dick was no longer there; he had left sometime during Bruce's reverie. That was just as well. He needed to sleep.

Bruce needed that too, but he couldn't go yet.

Suddenly the screen blinked and Bruce snapped to attention. The cursor was moving by itself and clicking open a word-processing program. Someone had hacked in.

He leaned forward in astonishment and anger. How had this happened without his awareness? His system was supposed to be state-of-the-art and secret. No one had hacked into the Batcomputer before.

_Who are you?_ he typed into the word-processor.

A moment later, another message began typing itself out.

_**What has dark hair, bloodshot eyes, and a great deal of bad luck?**_

Bruce stared in shock and disbelief. "It can't be," he rasped. Before he could think of a response, the answer appeared.

_**Batman looking for a needle in a haystack. Or should I say, a Catherine in a large city.**_

Now the word-processor was still, the cursor blinking as it waited for someone to pick up the conversation. Bruce pulled himself together, swiftly tapping out his reply.

_Are you the one responsible for the crossword puzzle?_

A pause. _**What do you think? You asked who I am. Don't you know, Bruce Wayne?**_

The color drained from Bruce's face.

_**I told you I'd figured out who you are. And from that, my brilliant mind deduced the probable location of your secret supercomputer and picked up the signal. I really quite enjoyed hacking into your database. It was a challenge the likes of which I haven't had in some time. Oh, I wish you had a camera right above the computer. I would love to see your expression right now!**_

For a long moment Bruce stared at the screen, trying to process the several combined unbelievabilities that this hacker was shoving in his face. But then he forced himself to type, knowing that if he didn't, the other might cut off communications until another time.

_Are you really Edward Nygma?_

_**You and I and Commissioner Gordon are the only ones who knew about our conversation in Arkham Asylum regarding your identity. Oh, unless Dr. Portman was listening as well. She could have been, you know. I don't trust her as far as I could throw her, and I somewhat doubt that would be very far!**_

Bruce narrowed his eyes. The hacker was certainly trying to make it convincing that he was Nygma, but Bruce was a hard sell, especially concerning a dead man.

_Why are you interested in the Catherine case?_

_**If the police aren't careful, they're going to play right into this mysterious puzzle-maker's plans. He wants them to find her for him. And then he will kill her.**_

Bruce read and re-read that disturbing information while he worked on his reply. _How do I know you're telling me the truth? Or that you are who you say you are?_

_**You are a doubting Thomas, aren't you. But very well; if that's how you want it, suppose we meet somewhere and you can see for yourself.**_

_I pick the place. The street corner across from Deenie's Café._

_**A public location, to prevent an ambush? Of course, Batman. Whatever you say.**_

_You're not concerned to be seen in public?_

_**Should I be?**_

_You're supposed to be dead._

_**To live on in memories is to be immortal.**_

_Poetic. Be there in fifteen minutes._

Bruce pushed away from the computer and stood, going across the room to where he kept his Batman suit. His thoughts were reeling.

Had he actually been conversing with the Riddler?

It certainly _sounded_ like the Riddler, even dropping in key phrases such as "doubting Thomas" to suggest a restoration to life.

And if it _was_ the Riddler, he actually had arrived at Batman's true identity. In the past, even after the Riddler had made his claim, Bruce hadn't been terribly worried about that happening, but that was partially because he knew the Riddler could have made a mistake and partially because he had trusted that the Riddler would have no reason to reveal the information if he did know it.

Did Bruce still believe that?

He supposed he could only answer that after going and seeing the Riddler firsthand—if it was indeed he. If he had not changed, then Bruce imagined that he would prefer to keep this riddle to himself.

"Master Bruce?"

He pulled his cowl on and looked over at the arriving, concerned Alfred. "What is it, Alfred?"

"Master Dick is worried about you, and I confess, I am as well. You need to sleep."

"I can't right now," Batman retorted.

"Yes, I can see." Alfred quirked an eyebrow. "You're going out, Sir?"

"I've got an appointment." Batman headed over to the Batmobile and climbed in.

"At this hour?!" Alfred stared in disbelief. "The Batwave isn't reporting a crime. And I don't see the Batsignal in the sky. With whom do you have this appointment?"

"If I'm lucky, the walking dead," Batman answered as he drove off.

Alfred could only gawk after him with his mouth hanging open. "I knew I shouldn't have let him and Master Dick watch that marathon on AMC last weekend," he fretted.

xxxx

The street corner was deserted when Batman pulled up and parked in the shadows. He got out, alert, prepared for an ambush.

None came. Instead, as he stood and waited in the dark, a figure strolled up the sidewalk and paused under a streetlamp.

He stared. The green suit and tie and black shirt were new, as was the green bowler hat. But he would recognize the long hair and the Marilyn Manson makeup anywhere. And the golden question mark cane slung over the shoulders.

The painted lips smirked. "Confess it, Batman. Until this moment, you didn't really believe you were talking to me."

"It isn't hard to understand why, is it?" Batman moved forward to study him closer. "You were dead. That was an established fact. How are you alive now?"

Nygma held up a forefinger to tsk the query. "The same force that takes life can also give it back. But we're not here to discuss my miraculous return from the grave. You're here because you want to know about Catherine."

That was true. But even so, Batman could not refrain from saying, "Why did you wait until now to come forward? You should have let us know you were alive, instead of leaving riddles in freezer drawers."

Behind the mask, he could see the Riddler's eyes narrowing. "The riddle was more than enough to let you know. Why should I bother to reveal the truth more than that until I had a reason to? You don't expect me to believe that you or Yinsey or anyone else has actually been mourning my death. Anything you or she felt over what happened was just because you don't like to lose people in general. It had nothing to do with specifically me."

"You don't know what's been going on in our minds," Batman retorted.

"Oh?" Nygma brought the cane down and wrapped his arms around it, leaning forward. "Then tell me, Batman. If you've missed me, if even one thought was devoted to thinking 'I wish the Riddler were still alive because I miss him' and not 'I wish the Riddler were still alive because I can't stand that I failed to save him', I would like to know."

Now it was Batman's eyes narrowing. "You're right; I don't like to fail. Neither does Detective Yin. But we also wanted you alive because you had a chance to start over. We both felt you deserved it and we wanted to see you take that chance. Have we missed you? To that I couldn't say. But I don't like to see life cut short."

Nygma sobered. "I see." He straightened. "Well, that's better than nothing. Thank you; I'm sorry if my actions were improper."

"Not defeating the Chessmaster, even at the risk of your life," Batman said, "but not telling us flat-out that you were alright. _That_ was improper." He paused. "Why did you sacrifice yourself, anyway?"

Nygma looked weary, even puzzled. "I don't know," he said. "It was a desperate situation and there was really nothing else to be done. I could choose to die along with all of you when the Chessmaster pulled the switch, or I could choose to die with him, sparing the rest of you. I chose the latter, foolishly heroic though it may have been, because it seemed the nobler end. I was going to die either way, and I didn't want to die a weakling at the mercy of my nemesis."

"Then you do know why you did it," Batman said.

"What I don't know is if that was my only reason," Nygma replied.

"Fair enough," Batman said. But he paused. "You could have tried to get away while the Chessmaster was busy killing the rest of us."

"Yes, I suppose I could have," the Riddler mused. "But it isn't like me to run from an enemy. Usually I will stay and fight, however I can."

"That's true," Batman acknowledged.

"Well." Nygma half-turned, the cane now behind his back. "On to the matter of Catherine, then."

"So what about Catherine?" Batman demanded. "Which one is it?"

"Catherine Mitchell, a stage actress," the Riddler replied.

Batman frowned. "I don't remember reading about her."

A shrug. "She's not very prominent yet. She's just graduating from the chorus to a supporting role in a stage production of _Foggy Midnights of Gotham._"

"Never heard of it," Batman said flatly.

"It's not very prominent yet, either," was the smirking reply.

"Alright. So you say that whoever's putting the police department through these paces wants to kill Catherine Mitchell when the police find her. Why?"

"She doesn't know." Nygma leaned against the lamppost, reminiscent of a private detective in the hardboiled novels of the 1940s.

"Now we have a problem," Batman said. "If the crossword puzzle pieces are always going to relate to Catherine Mitchell, naturally at least one of them is going to deal with where she is right now. If someone's trying to kill her, that information can't be given out even if the police get hold of it. And if they don't give it out, a building will be blown up."

"That is quite the pickle, isn't it." Nygma straightened. "The only other solution is to give a fake location and have a decoy waiting, pretending to be Catherine Mitchell. Then, when the murderer goes there to find her, the police or you can be waiting in the shadows and arrest him."

"Of course, it will put the decoy in a great deal of danger," Batman said.

"I'm sure there's some policewoman who would be willing to take the chance. Yinsey, even—although she doesn't resemble the girl much."

"I don't suppose you have a picture of her on hand," Batman shot back.

"I keep a record of everyone who steps through my door. I never know when I might need it." With that Nygma removed a photograph from his pocket and handed it to Batman with a flourish.

Batman took it, memorizing it in a moment. "So you've talked to her then. Do you know where she is right now?"

"Of course I do. But I'm not willing to give out that information on a lowly street corner."

"Where, then?" Batman demanded.

"The police will want to talk to her as well, but they might be followed. I don't think this person is expecting you to show up." The Riddler pushed away from the lamppost and walked closer to Batman, keeping his voice low. "Think about reality TV."

Batman stared at him. "That seems a little out of character for you, Nygma."

"Oh, I can't stand it," Nygma said. "It's entertainment for Neanderthals. Game shows, on the other hand, can be very stimulating. Depending on the show, that is."

He was leaving riddles again. Batman memorized those as well, not sure at this point which comments were important and which might be red herrings.

Satisfied that he had made his point, Nygma stepped back. "Now, if that's all, Batman . . ."

"Not quite." Batman blocked the path. "That little discussion we had over the computer. Is that going to go any farther?"

"You mean, am I going to tell all of Gotham what I know?" Nygma tsked. "Really, Batman, what fun would there be in that?"

"It wouldn't be fun at all, especially for you. Don't push your luck, Nygma."

"You needn't worry about that."

"I'd better not." Batman paused. "Where are you setting up shop these days?"

"That is information you won't have unless I want you to have it," Nygma said. "Or unless you trace me down. If you want to contact me about the case, use this." He held out a business card with only an email address written on it.

Batman accepted it. "I guess this will have to do for now," he said, having every intention of tracing Nygma's location.

Nygma knew it too. "And so the game continues."

"This isn't a game," Batman retorted.

Nygma didn't acknowledge that. Instead he hesitated, looking awkward. "Batman . . . does Yin know? About me, that is."

"No one knows . . . yet." Batman studied him.

"Are you going to tell her?"

"Should I?" Batman replied. "Or should you? Maybe that's a riddle you should figure out, if you can. You're an expert at inanimate puzzles, but when it comes to the human mind and heart, you often get a failing grade." With that, he activated the Bathook and soared out of sight.

The Riddler stared after him, stunned. "You're more upset than you let on," he remarked at last, speaking to the cool night air around him. "I wonder if Yin is upset as well."

xxxx

It was a relief to have a decent sleep. But when Yin woke up the following morning to the sound of the doorbell, she wondered if she would have rather stayed asleep even longer.

Had there been a new break in the Catherine case? She had already been preparing herself for a long workday, but if something big had happened, good or bad, someone might have come to get her even before her shift was supposed to start.

"I'm coming," she called, wishing she'd had a chance to freshen up before seeing anyone. Her hair was wild from sleeping. But there was really nothing to be done about that. So she pulled the chains, undid the deadbolt, and unlocked the door.

And then just stopped and stared at her visitor.

"Hello, Yinsey," the all-too-familiar voice purred. "I hope I didn't get you up too early. I considered dropping in last night, but I decided the kindest thing to do for a cop would be to let her sleep."

Yin could only continue to stare, her heart gathering speed. "You . . . you're dead," she exclaimed. "I saw you lying dead."

"Yes," the Riddler agreed. "You did."

"But you're alive?" For a moment she looked at him in seeming awe. Then, shaking off her surprise, she advanced on the former criminal gamesman. "And now all of a sudden you show up here as though nothing happened?" She clenched a fist. "Do you know how hard I tried to revive you? Do you have any idea what it was like, to know that you'd chosen to give your life for us?"

"I don't know," he interrupted, and she paused, not having expected the admission. "I should say, I don't know what it was like for you. I _do_ know how hard you tried to revive me. I saw you."

That seemed to rattle her back to the present. "You _saw_ me?" she echoed in shock.

"And I was more than a little surprised by your frantic efforts. But I decided it was less about me and more that you couldn't stand for anyone to die on your behalf. I know how hard you tried to save your replacement partner from the Joker following Detective Bennett's . . . forced absence. You didn't particularly care for the man, yet your integrity and loyalty wouldn't let you abandon him just because of your personal preferences."

Yin looked down, still feeling the sting of that time from those words. "With you that was some of it," she said quietly. "But not all of it."

"Not . . . ?" The Riddler gazed at her in confused amazement. "Then what?"

"I don't even know myself." She looked up again. "But you really are alive? And you're really . . . you?" Suddenly her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You could be Clayface or someone else just pretending in order to get me to let down my guard."

"And would Clayface or anyone else even know that the subject of the Riddler is a button they could push?"

Yin paused, really letting that sink in. "No," she said. "No one could know."

It began to dawn on her that they were having this highly personal conversation in the doorway of her apartment. And several doors up and down the hall were starting to crack open as nosy neighbors grew more curious.

She stepped out of the doorway. "Come inside," she said. "We've got a lot to talk about. And you had better have some answers, Riddler."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The Riddler had settled on Yin's couch, looking and feeling quite awkward. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees and clasping his fingers. The cane was propped next to him, also reclining against the couch.

Yin sat across from him in a chair. "For once you seem to be at a loss for words, Riddler."

He gave a dark smirk. "Well, you see, I had planned it all out—how I would announce my revival from the dead. I already tried out my version on The Batman. But he didn't find it as entertaining as I did." He sobered. "He even suggested to me, rather strongly, that it was inappropriate to come waltzing back into your lives as pretty as I please, after you both thought I was dead." He straightened, leaning back. "I didn't think there was anything wrong in it, since I was quite sure that neither one of you truly cared about me."

Yin's eyes widened slightly. "He told you otherwise?"

"Oh, not in so many words," the Riddler was quick to say. "But he said that both of you wanted me to have the chance to start over. He said it wasn't just about the personal failure of being unable to save me. And now you have said something similar."

"So what are you thinking now?" Yin asked.

"And that is where we come to another dilemma. I don't bear my soul to people. I don't even reveal many of the simpler, basic things about my personality or my life. I prefer to, on some level, remain a mystery. It doesn't help that the one time I let down my guard enough to explain about myself to someone I trusted, she ensured my downfall." Bitterness tinged his voice.

"But?" Yin prompted.

"But now I have the very curious situation that both you and The Batman have seen me at my worst and know about my past. And in spite of that, you can desire for me to have another chance and even feel that I deserve it. That's . . . so much different than Julie. And so I can't help wondering if I should change my policy for the both of you. I already told The Batman quite a bit about myself, but at the time I thought we were both going to die." He smirked, darkly. "I didn't think it so bad to reveal the truth under those circumstances. This would be very different."

Yin fell silent, pondering on his words. Part of her still wondered if she was asleep and just dreaming this bizarre meeting. It wasn't impossible, not when she had been thinking about the Riddler just before bed.

Yet somehow she felt that it was real. And the Riddler clearly felt so uncertain of himself. If Yin were only dreaming, she had the feeling he would be cocky and arrogant, as he generally was.

"I want the truth," she said at last. "I won't press you for details you don't want to give, but I want to understand. And I want you to give it to me straight, without all the riddles."

"Ah, but how can _you_ understand when _I _don't understand?" the Riddler replied. "I'm not even fully sure why I came here. I could have just stuck with my original plans in spite of The Batman's objections."

Yin paused. It certainly wasn't like her to try to help the Riddler understand himself. She didn't even really think she was qualified to attempt picking apart the man's brain. But, while it wasn't usual, she did wonder if at least this time she had an answer for him.

"You said yourself that you felt that plan was okay when you didn't think anyone cared," she said. "Maybe now that it looks like it's possibly otherwise, you don't feel comfortable with it anymore. Maybe you don't want to hurt anyone who might actually care about you, so you came here in all seriousness instead of doing what you did with Batman."

"Hmm. Maybe you're right," the Riddler acknowledged.

"So just tell me the truth," Yin implored. "I know you were dead. You've even admitted it. How are you alive again? I want to know."

He hesitated, not sure if he wanted to reveal the entire truth. That was definitely a side of him that neither she nor The Batman had seen, and were they to find out, he couldn't help the fear that if there was some semblance of caring for him, it would be gone once they knew.

"I . . . have a device," he said vaguely. "I had already told the Riddlemen to try to use it to shock me back to life if I ended up dying while fighting the Chessmaster. They did, and as you can see, it worked."

"A device?" Yin raised an eyebrow. "Like that lie detector machine you used on Batman and me?"

"No," the Riddler said slowly. "Not like that."

Yin frowned. This was an area he absolutely did not want to discuss. And she had already promised not to pry, so she supposed the only decent thing to do was to drop it. Still, from mulling over his words, she had one slowly forming suspicion of what he meant. But . . . was that something he would really mess with? It wasn't how she thought of him at all. And she found she really wanted to know.

"Riddler . . ." She hesitated herself, not wanting to alienate him when this was already extremely difficult for him. "Were you . . . experimenting with bringing back the dead?"

Behind the mask, his eyes widened in surprise. But then he looked away. He had been caught; he wouldn't try to deny it.

"Three years ago I was," he said. "It was my uncle." He clenched a fist. "He shouldn't have died and I wanted him back. But I couldn't make it work. I tried a few adjustments, but when I still couldn't produce results, I locked the machine away. I knew it wasn't something I should be trifling with. However, when I knew I might die at the Chessmaster's hands, I felt it was worth one more try—on myself." He looked at her straight-on. "What do you think of that?"

Yin shook her head, reeling again. "I don't know. It's . . . different than if you were constantly obsessing over it like a modern Dr. Frankenstein, but it's still a lot to take in."

"Do you regret asking me now?" From his expression and tone of voice, he was certain he knew the answer to that.

"No," Yin said after a moment, to his stunned surprise. "I told you I wanted the truth. I meant it." She looked at him. "But it's been several weeks. What have you been doing?"

The Riddler gazed at her for another moment, as though unable to believe that she was still interested in hearing more. "Well, I had to spend some time recovering from what I did to myself during that battle, of course. I've been laying low with my Riddlemen."

"Are you better now?" Yin asked, sincerely concerned.

"I'm quite well, yes. And I've taken to working on mysteries. This crossword one, for instance."

Yin stared at him. "You already know about that?"

"Why, of course." A bit of the old spark returned and he smirked. "I like to stay up-to-date on everything involving riddles and puzzles that goes on in Gotham. I am the grand master, after all. And any new gamesman in Gotham must be able to meet my challenge."

Yin sighed at the show of arrogance, especially since she was about to feed his ego all the more. "We could use your help on this one."

"I am a consultant now," said the Riddler. "I would be willing to consult with the police on the crossword case. For a fee, naturally."

"And the police department would be willing to pay it," Yin said.

"There's just one thing, Yinsey," he interjected. "The one responsible for the puzzles is looking for the woman Catherine. He's hoping the police will lead him to her. Therefore, the police really can't go seeking her out now, can they?"

Yin frowned. "But you can?"

"I . . . and The Batman. If his own riddle-solving skills are as sharp as ever, I'm sure he's found her by now." The Riddler smiled, pleased with himself.

Yin shook her head. She had never thought she would be thinking it, but she was actually glad to see that arrogance coming out again. The Riddler was truly alive. And he was still basically the same. More thoughtful and caring, perhaps, but then again, maybe this was how he had acted when he had trusted Julie and believed that she cared about him.

Perhaps it was instead only Yin's attitude that had changed. That change had started during the Friday Night Killer case and had only continued after the Riddler's death. She didn't fully understand her feelings, but she knew she had started to see the Riddler as someone who still had goodness within him. She felt the same now that she was actually with him again.

". . . So you're a consultant," she said. "Is that why the change in wardrobe?"

"Something like that," he said. "I might lose the hat, though. I don't think it's really me."

"But you decided to keep the hair and the makeup."

He grinned. "I'm nothing if not unconventional."

Yin finally had to smirk in resignation. "That's the understatement of the century.

"Have you been getting much business?"

"There have been some cases," the Riddler said. "Enough that I already have a reputation as one of the best."

Yin regarded him with a bit of suspicion. "Do you really just consult?"

He looked back with an innocent air. "Does a good consultant ever just consult?"

She shook her head. "If you're branching out as some kind of a vigilante too . . ."

"I shouldn't, because that's illegal?" he finished. "Tell that to Commissioner Gordon and The Batman."

Yin cast her gaze to the ceiling. "How can I argue with that?"

Delighted, the Riddler said, "You can't, Yinsey. At least not logically. So why don't we talk about the crossword case some more instead?"

She looked to him. "What more can you tell me about it?"

"Not a lot," he admitted. "I suppose nothing much will happen until the next communication tonight. Then I may be able to help fill in those blanks. And if not, I or The Batman can speak to Catherine for the answer."

"Can you at least tell me who Catherine is?" Yin retorted.

"Catherine Mitchell, a stage actress," said the Riddler. "If you want, we can go to the theatre where she performs and see if we can learn anything there."

Yin quirked an eyebrow. "You haven't done that already?"

"She came to see me in the middle of the night. Nothing was open. But by now the theatre should be awash with activity."

Yin considered that and nodded. "Alright. Give me a few minutes to get dressed and we'll go." She stood to head into the bedroom, but then paused. "If someone from work calls, what should I say about you?"

"It would be a long explanation, wouldn't it?" the Riddler replied. "Just say you've been contacted by someone who has met the correct Catherine and you're trying to learn everything you can from them. Later on we can tell Commissioner Gordon the truth. Except I would prefer if you left the little matter of my machine out of it."

"I'll try," Yin said. "But I hope you meant it about not using it anymore."

"I'm much more interested in matters of the mind than I am of the body," the Riddler said.

"That's true," Yin conceded.

xxxx

Batman stood in front of the large hotel, his cape blowing in the autumn breeze that had picked up. "The Hilton," he said under his breath. Of course, what other hotel chain could come to mind when the clue was reality television?

That, however, was only part of the mystery. Catherine Mitchell had no doubt registered under something other than her real name. The Riddler's comment about game shows must have something to do with the name to look for. Batman had accessed the hotel's current guest list and searched it meticulously, checking it against the names of women associated with popular game shows.

It was certainly time-consuming. But while ordinarily he would be quite frustrated and furious with the Riddler for leading him on this sort of chase, this time he supposed he had to grudgingly acknowledge the practicality of it. If anyone had possibly been listening to the conversation last night, it was to be hoped that they wouldn't piece together the solution so easily.

Then again, if they were attempting to become Gotham's newest puzzle king, it surely wouldn't take them that long.

Batman had ended up with three possibilities. And now came the fun part—he had to check each girl against the photograph he had seen. That probably wasn't going to be as easy as he hoped.

He went around to the back of the building and shot the Bathook at the roof. Then he climbed, quickly and steadily, until he came to the balcony of the first girl on the list. She hadn't bothered to close her drapes, or even the door at all.

Batman frowned deeply. Surely Catherine wouldn't be that careless, even if she didn't expect someone to come in on her balcony. Most people in fear of their lives took some precautions.

Still, he couldn't see the occupant. And there was always the chance that their enemy had beat him to the scene and taken her. He would have to go in and check.

He had just entered the room and was starting to advance on the part he couldn't see from the doorway when a girl with light-brown hair and a chalk-white complexion flew out of the bathroom with an expensive vase in hand.

He caught it as she threw it at him. "Catherine Mitchell?" She matched the picture.

The girl froze. "No," she said. "My name is White."

"You're Catherine Mitchell," Batman insisted, setting the vase on a table. "You were consulting with a man about the person who's trying to kill you."

She blinked in surprise. "Oh." She drew a deep breath. "He told me he was going to bring in someone else who would be interested in the case. So you're The Batman?" She studied him. "You're not how I pictured you."

"Nevermind that. Why is your door open?" Batman demanded.

"Someone broke in a few minutes before you," she explained breathlessly. "I screamed and ran in here, threatening to call the police. I didn't have my cellphone, but I pretended I did and talked really loud to make sure he heard. When I didn't hear anything more, I came charging out with that vase. But apparently he was scared off. Maybe by you."

"I didn't see anyone outside," Batman replied. He peered at her closely. "Don't you have any idea who wants to kill you and why?"

"Mr. Nashton asked that too," Catherine sighed. "I don't. I honestly don't. It could have been something I innocently saw on the street or heard in the theatre. Anywhere!"

"Nashton," Batman repeated. He should have considered the idea that the Riddler might be using that alias again. Of course, he hadn't had any idea that the Riddler was alive to use any alias.

"You _do_ know him, don't you?" Catherine asked, suddenly frowning with suspicion.

"I know him," Batman said. He walked back to the open balcony door and closed it. "Tell me how you became aware that someone was trying to kill you."

Catherine threw up her hands as she followed Batman to the doors. "I thought it was just accidental at first. A sandbag fell during a rehearsal and would have killed me if I hadn't moved. Two nights later, a car nearly ran me down when I was crossing the street to get to my apartment. It was the third time something happened that I knew I had a problem." Her eyes narrowed. "Someone threw a knife at me that just missed."

"So why haven't you gone to the police?" Batman frowned.

"This is my first big part," Catherine retorted. "I don't need a lot of bad publicity to ruin it."

"You don't need your death to ruin it, either," Batman shot back.

Catherine walked to the bed and plopped on the edge of it. "I've got Mr. Nashton and The Batman working on it," she said. "I feel very safe."

"Maybe so, but obviously you weren't as well-hidden as you and Nashton thought," Batman said. "You'll have to move."

"Believe me, I'm going to," Catherine said. "But meanwhile, how are you and Nashton going to protect me from the police finding out where I am and passing it along to this nutcase?"

"We'll talk to the commissioner. And maybe set up a decoy to fool your killer into getting caught."

Catherine smirked at that. "That smacks of delicious irony," she said. "I hope I can watch."

Behind the cowl, Batman raised an eyebrow. "You don't seem very affected by the fact that someone wants you dead."

"I'm an actress, remember?" Catherine retorted. "I'm acting. If you could see my insides, you'd know how affected I am."

"Alright. Just see to it that you move right away. And if you have any of your equipment here, maybe you should think about leaving in a disguise."

"I've thought about that. And I'll do it." Catherine turned, again heading for the bathroom. "Later on today, I'll contact Mr. Nashton."

"Fine." Batman walked through the suite, making certain the intruder hadn't slipped into a corner and stayed. When he was convinced the room was safe, he lingered near the balcony to wait.

Fifteen minutes later, a woman emerged from the bathroom with black, curly locks and a red dress suit. She looked to Batman with a smirk. "I'll try the Carmen Sandiego look," she said, pulling down her matching red fedora.

"Nice," said Batman. "But what about your luggage? If that intruder had time to see it, he'll see it again if he's watching the hotel lobby."

"And that's another nice little trick." Catherine went to her suitcase, swiftly unpacked it, and reversed it. "Now it matches my suit. No one will spot me."

Batman nodded. "I'll go back outside. Seeing us leave together could also tip him off."

After repacking her suitcase, Catherine picked it up and headed for the door. "See you later, Dark Knight. And thanks. Tell Mr. Nashton thanks, too."

"You'll probably see him before I do," Batman replied.

He returned to the balcony and climbed swiftly to the roof. From there, he waited and watched until Catherine emerged from the front doors and climbed into a waiting cab. Then he turned away. Morning had come on and it was not usual for The Batman to be seen during the day. It was time to go home and get some sleep.

Anyway, the homing device he had planted among Catherine's packed clothes would tell him where she ended up, without him having to go through any more of the Riddler's riddles first.

He smirked to himself. Even if they were working on the same side, he would insist on having the upper hand wherever possible.

He soon sobered as he came down from the building and slipped in and out of the last remaining shadows of the night. He had been focusing all of his attention on deciphering the Riddler's cryptic information and had not really had much time to fully process the events of the last several hours.

But Edward Nygma was alive. And even though it didn't take away the fact that Batman had been unable to save him in the past, somehow it still lifted some of the burden from his shoulders.

He was glad that Nygma was alive, even though at the same time he was still angry that they had not been positively told until now.

It was what he could expect, he supposed, from someone who had rarely been loved and had adopted a joy in riddles and puzzles and hiding the truth within them. Naturally Nygma wouldn't think Batman and Yin cared any more than most anyone else ever had, when they had only worked with him out of necessity. And naturally he would decide that looking out for himself was the wisest option, even if that meant keeping people in the dark about his return to the scene.

Idly Batman wondered if Nygma had taken the advice and had gone to see Yin.

He also wondered how Yin would react. She wouldn't like the deception either, but as to whether she would be more or less forgiving was something he couldn't answer. Her feelings against the Riddler had been strong, much moreso than Batman's. But over the course of the Friday Night Killer case, she had definitely started to develop a different picture of him. When he had so suddenly given his life, she had been shaken to the core. Sometimes Batman still thought of when Nygma had lain sprawled and lifeless on the floor and she had struggled so desperately and so vainly to revive him.

It would be interesting breaking the news to Dick. But hopefully that would wait until after some sleep. Once Dick knew, it would be the start of a long conversation. And right now, the only conversation Batman wanted to have was with the Sandman.

xxxx

The theatre was old and uninviting. The complete opposite of the spacious theatre in the good part of town, the ancient Gotham City Playhouse was the sort of place from which ghost legends stemmed by the dozens. There had been multiple stories of restless spirits both in and around the theatre and up and down the street. They might be true or they might not, but one fact was certain—the area had experienced more than its fair share of violent crimes and deaths.

Yin regarded the creaking, dirty door in disgust as the Riddler pulled it open for her. "Don't they even hire a janitor?" she exclaimed. "It's no wonder we didn't think of Catherine Mitchell the second-rate actress as the Catherine in question. Who'd think someone here would know anything worth killing for?"

"Actually, there's certainly plenty of crimes she could have witnessed," the Riddler remarked. "Surely you know this street's reputation."

"I know it, alright," Yin answered. "But wouldn't she remember if she witnessed something?"

"Perhaps someone only thought she saw something." The Riddler twirled his cane behind his back as they wandered through the vacant lobby and towards the auditorium.

"Still, this isn't a place where I'd ever think to find another puzzle-master," Yin said.

"Ooh, I've spoiled you, Yinsey," the Riddler purred. "But I have to admit, it's not the first location I'd consider looking for a criminal mastermind either." He stared up at the vaulted ceiling, one of the only remaining nice-looking elements of the playhouse. "Of course, that _could_ be exactly what he wants."

"Maybe. But where is everyone? Shouldn't they be rehearsing?" Yin's voice echoed eerily through the large and empty room. Up ahead, the stage was lit only by the dimmed lights that were turned on at night. A backdrop of a pleasant meadow and a little house seemed in direct contrast with the chilling atmosphere the room otherwise provided.

"Perhaps they're backstage," the Riddler suggested. "It's still early; they could just be setting up."

"Hello?" Yin called. "Is anyone here?" Reaching the stage, she went around to the steps and slowly climbed up. To her left, the orchestra pit was abandoned. Up ahead, the prompter's box was dark and cold.

And above her, casting a shadow across the stage, a sandbag swayed seemingly without help.

Yin leaped out of the way just as the bag came down, hitting the stage with a loud and reverberating _thump._ Instantly she looked up, drawing her gun as she stared into the darkness of the rafters. The only thing visible amid the catwalks was a horrifyingly large spider web, complete with a horrifyingly large spider.

"What's going on?" the Riddler demanded as he ran over to her.

"Someone dropped that sandbag just now," Yin said angrily. "I'm not going to believe it was a ghost!"

"I don't believe it either," the Riddler declared. "Mainly because ghosts do not have the ability to manipulate objects in the physical realm. Unless, of course, they're poltergeists. If such things truly exist."

Yin narrowed her eyes, not wanting to discuss the fact that the Riddler knew, even if only from a short experience, what being a disembodied spirit was like. Instead she turned, running backstage and towards the open dressing rooms. She could hear her strange companion running right behind her.

The first two rooms were empty. But Yin stopped short at the third. Then she rushed in, reaching to touch the throat of a girl who was slumped over the dressing table. A cruel knife was protruding from her back.

"Don't touch anything in here," she warned the Riddler when he ran up. "This is a crime scene. This girl is dead!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The Riddler was uneasy when the police began to arrive. Not certain he wanted to be seen by them yet, he slunk into the shadows to watch and wait.

"What is this, Yin?" Chief Rojas blustered when he stomped into the theatre along with several officers and detectives. "We're in the middle of dealing with this crossword psychopath when you call up, say you've been investigating with some mysterious consultant, and that there's been a murder here in the theatre!"

"What's to understand, Chief?" Yin retorted. "That's exactly how it was. Someone tried to drop that sandbag out there on my head. By that point, they'd probably already killed this girl and were trying to escape."

"Through the rafters?" Rojas snorted.

"Some people are slender and nimble enough to do that," Yin said, wondering where the Riddler had slipped off to.

"Yeah, I guess." Rojas looked around the dressing room. "So what have you found out so far? And where's this guy you've been consulting with? We'll need a statement from him."

"I'm not sure where he is," Yin said honestly. "As for what I've found out, the girl's name was Amy Sands. There's a script on her table for the play _Foggy Nights of Gotham_. I guess she was in it. What's strange is that she was clearly getting ready for a rehearsal; you can see the lipstick in her hand and that she's wearing part of a 1920s costume. But there's no one else in the theatre."

"Maybe she was lured out here when there wasn't a rehearsal scheduled," Rojas said. "Or maybe she just came in early. Or maybe she was trying on her stuff. Actors are vain like that."

Yin gave a wry smirk. "I seem to remember you being pretty proud of your new uniform, Chief."

Rojas cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Yes, well . . . that's different," he barked. "Anyway. Was your consultant with you at all times?"

"Yes," Yin said, her tone clipped. "Right up to when we found the body."

"What about before that? He could have killed the girl and then come to you pretending to be innocent and helpful." Rojas glared around the theatre. "I don't trust a lot of these so-called consultants. They all want a piece of the action. And it's not unheard-of for crooks to nose in on things to throw suspicion off of them."

"This one isn't," Yin snapped. At the same time, she wondered how she could be so defensive at the idea. In the past, it might have seemed a very logical concept, one that she might have believed herself. Crossword puzzles were certainly the Riddler's speed. And threatening to endanger the city—even if he really wouldn't have done it.

Part of her wondered if she was being foolish to trust in him now. But it wasn't a very large part, and overall she quite insisted on believing that he was telling the truth. Whatever else the Riddler was or had been, a liar wasn't one of them. He had always told the truth about his riddles, and he had been so sincere at her apartment this morning that she was certain he had told the truth about himself as well.

"You're pretty insistent about this, aren't you, Yin," Rojas frowned. "Why? Who is this guy, that he can instill so much loyalty in you?"

Yin held his gaze for one long moment before turning back to the crime scene. "Who he is isn't important right now," she said brusquely. "Finding out who did this is."

"The lab boys are dusting for prints," Rojas said. "Until they're done with that, there's not a lot we can do here, especially if you and he already went over the whole theatre and didn't find anyone."

"No one was here, except whoever loosened that sandbag," Yin said. "And you should at least believe that _that_ wasn't him. Unless you don't believe me, either." She folded her arms.

"Of course I believe you!" Rojas retorted. "But he could have had an accomplice. Or maybe the bag dropped by remote control. It seems like all the nutcases in Gotham are using remote control these days."

Yin regarded the heavy man in amusement. "If you want to look up there for a remote control device, Chief, be my guest."

"Oh!" Rojas snorted and turned away, unimpressed.

Still hidden amid the shadows and boxes and curtain folds, the Riddler gripped his cane, surprised and touched. Yin really did believe in him. He sighed, bowing his head. He shouldn't have allowed her to believe he was dead these past weeks, with only that cryptic riddle to look to otherwise. He wouldn't have, had he known there actually was some level of caring on her part.

Right now, however, he wondered what to do. Should he leave and not allow himself to be seen yet? Or should he step out and back up Yin's story? It didn't sound like Yin really needed his help, and of all people to learn that he was alive, Chief Rojas was at the bottom of that list.

He slipped deeper into the curtains. He was going to leave, if he could.

It wasn't to be; he hit a crate he hadn't known was there. He stiffened as the sound seemed to echo through the backstage area. Before he was able to so much as slip behind a stack of crates, the curtain flew up and a gun was suddenly in his face.

"Alright, come out of there," an officer ordered.

Cursing his luck, the Riddler obediently stepped out, still holding the cane. "As you wish, Officer." He briefly considered pressing a button and knocking the man out with his latest batch of sleeping gas, but instead he decided that at least for the moment, he would behave. They had nothing on him, after all.

The policeman went sheet-white when he saw who was emerging from the darkness. "It can't be!" he cried, nearly dropping his gun. "You . . . you're dead!"

His exclamation brought every other police officer to the scene. Already knowing exactly what had happened without seeing it, Yin cringed.

Chief Rojas stopped short, his eyes wide and his mouth working without sound coming out. _"YIN!"_ he finally bellowed. "_This_ is your consultant, isn't it?! This . . . this madman, this psychopath, this . . . this . . ."

"This obnoxious riddler, who nevertheless helped us and was vital in the Friday Night Killer case?" Yin supplied as she approached. "This brave man who sacrificed himself to save my life and several others? This determined man who wouldn't have even died if he hadn't been trying to do the right thing for once? Yes, Chief Rojas, he's back from the dead. Yes, he is my consultant. And yes, I do trust him."

"Then you're a fool!" Rojas snarled. "This whole caper is right up his alley." He looked to the Riddler with furious, flashing, already-convinced eyes. "You sent those crossword pieces last night, didn't you? You're behind all of this!"

"I haven't sent you anything, _Chief,_" the Riddler replied, his voice cool and mocking. "I offered my services to Detective Yin here and she accepted. I was as surprised by what we found here as she was. Not that I would ever imagine that you would believe me."

"And just why were you skulking around in the shadows just now, if you've got nothing to hide?" Rojas snapped.

"Because I didn't want to deal with the attitudes of Neanderthals like you at the moment," the Riddler crisply responded.

Yin facepalmed.

"Alright, that's it." Rojas turned to the still-shaken officer. "Cuff him."

"Wait." Yin stepped forward, her eyes narrowed. "Commissioner Gordon himself promised the Riddler immunity if he would help close the Friday Night Killer case, which he did, and he paid a much higher price than he ever should have had to."

"Immunity only works for past crimes, Yin," Rojas said boredly.

"Right, and he hasn't committed any new ones." Yin glared at her superior. "He was with me for some time before we ever came to the theatre, and he wasn't out of my sight here until after we found the body. I'm sure the coroner will find that this girl died during the time Riddler's presence can be accounted for. Unless you have better proof than the fact that he was hiding backstage, and the fact that _you don't like him,_ you can't arrest him."

Rojas's eyes burned. He hated the fact that Yin was right.

"Okay, don't cuff him," he said gruffly. "But keep an eye on him at all times while he's here."

"I was just leaving," the Riddler said coolly.

"We'll need a statement first," Rojas replied through gritted teeth.

"It will be the same as Detective Yin's," the Riddler informed him.

"Yeah, well, we'll need it anyway." Rojas turned away. "Are the lab boys done yet?"

"Almost, Sir," one of them said.

"Good. Hurry it up." Rojas stormed back to the dressing room area, reaching into his pocket for his stress ball.

"You can practically see the smoke coming out of his ears," Yin sighed as she walked over to the Riddler.

"An entertaining visualization," the Riddler purred. "Incidentally, Yinsey, I was touched by how you stood up for me there."

"Just don't prove me wrong, Riddler," Yin returned. "I put a whole lot of trust in you after what you did during the Friday Night Killer case. I don't want to see that go to waste."

"It won't," the Riddler said. "I give you my word that I am not responsible for the crossword puzzles. Or this murder."

"I know murder isn't your style unless you have a personal vendetta," Yin said. "Thankfully, I think someone has always stopped you from that. But you could decide to ally yourself with a fellow puzzle-lover even if you weren't planning to go along with their murders."

"I'll admit it isn't out of the question to be interested in a possible partnership," said the Riddler. "However, it's more likely that I would prefer to keep this person as a rival, someone to challenge me."

"Is that still how you feel about Batman too?" Yin couldn't help wondering.

"Yes, to some extent," the Riddler replied. "With him, the challenge is to see who solves the mystery first."

"Right now, I don't care who solves the mystery first, as long as someone other than Crossword does," Yin grumbled.

"Oh, is that what you're going to call them?" the Riddler said. "How quaint." He turned to go. "Well, after I give my statement to that rather confused officer, I believe I will return to my office and see if Catherine has contacted me again."

"Are you expecting her to?"

"If she's talked with The Batman yet." He gave a mock bow and tipped his hat. "I'll be in touch later, probably after you hear from our Puzzlemaster once more."

"Riddler!" Yin exclaimed in exasperation. "What if I need to contact you before you get back to me?"

With that he pulled the same type of business card out of his pocket that he had given to Batman. "My card," he said smoothly. "I can be reached at any time of the day or night at that address."

Yin sighed, seeing it was solely an email address. "What about a physical address?"

"If The Batman has spoken to Catherine by now, he probably has some ideas on that," was the reply. With that, the odd man strolled on ahead, his cane slung over one shoulder as he approached the nearest officer for a statement.

Yin shook her head, slipping the card into her pocket. What a strange, strange day this was already turning out to be.

And it wasn't even ten A.M. yet.

xxxx

The day proceeded without much to report on the case.

The Riddler received a message from Catherine, telling him of Batman's visit and her relocation. He informed her of the murder and waited for a response.

Bruce Wayne slept until close to eleven, whereupon Alfred awakened him because of a luncheon at Wayne Industries that he was required to attend.

The police tried to draw a connection between the murder victim and Catherine. But aside from being told that the actresses were not fond of each other and that Amy Sands had been given a smaller part in the play than Catherine, nothing much could be gleaned. A study of fingerprints revealed Amy's and many unidentified sets, likely the other actresses who used the dressing room set aside for supporting players.

Dick took his History test and came home. He was afraid he hadn't done well on the test, but well, how could he be expected to when he was bursting to ask Bruce some important questions about last night?

"So where did you go last night?" he demanded of Bruce when he walked through the door.

Bruce looked at him. "How did your History test go?"

"I'm not sure," Dick admitted sheepishly. "But only because I just kept wondering where you were. I didn't even know you'd gone out until this morning, when I got Alfred to admit that you went out chasing zombies or something. He insisted I let you sleep and herded me off to school. Otherwise, I would've been downstairs checking it out! Is Hugo Strange developing some creepy new toxin?"

Bruce shook his head at the ramble, a bit overwhelmed. "Not that I know of. Actually, what I said to Alfred was 'the walking dead'."

"Same thing," Dick shrugged. "So?"

"I wasn't chasing zombies," Bruce said, coming around to the couch and sinking into it with a sigh. "I was meeting the Riddler."

"What?!" Goggle-eyed, Dick dropped his backpack and rushed over. "So he really isn't dead?! He _is_ responsible for this crossword thing, isn't he?"

"He says he isn't. He led me to find Catherine. Both he and she insist that she came to him for help."

Dick frowned. "You don't really believe him. He could be using her."

"He could be," Bruce said.

"But you don't think he is," Dick prompted.

"I don't. It's not his style."

"He used Joker and Penguin when he wanted to take over the city," Dick said.

"He didn't want to take over as much as he wanted to get The Batman's attention," Bruce said. "And using two hardened criminals is a lot different than using a frightened young girl."

Dick looked away. "I don't know," he said, staring at the floor. "It seems like you really make excuses for him a lot."

"I'm just pointing out the other side of it," Bruce said. He leaned back. "It's not the same thing as making excuses, but I _do_ feel more sympathetic towards Riddler than I do some of Gotham's other villains. He's arrogant and egotistical, and he's previously endangered Yin and myself and certain people he wanted to get back at, but he _was_ treated unfairly by people he loved and trusted, to say the least. He loved so deeply that he was blind to the truth. If that hadn't happened, he probably would have gone down a much different, honest path."

Dick folded his arms. "Yeah, right. He was stealing stuff long before he became the Riddler or even got into the university."

"He told me that being in the university was his last chance to not be the Riddler." Bruce sighed. "He _wanted _to go straight. When Julie made it look like he either sabotaged his own memory discs or else was a crackpot who couldn't be trusted with them, she destroyed any hope he had of making an honest living that way. He was virtually blacklisted, not just in Gotham, but everywhere."

"There's always another path," Dick frowned. "No one _has_ to be a crook."

Bruce nodded. "Of course you're right, Dick. Some people become so caught up in their revenge or their shortcomings or their greed or desperation that they can't see any other path open to them."

"Desperation?" Dick said doubtfully.

"Yes. In Nygma's case, I think it was some of all of those things. And even though he lost himself in his Riddler identity for a while, he tried to make a new start for himself by asking for immunity if he helped on the Friday Night Killer case. He sacrificed himself to try to save us from the Chessmaster. And now that he's back, he's trying to live at least closer to the right side of the law."

_Or so he says_. Naturally Bruce wouldn't just blindly trust him, but he was willing to extend some level of the benefit of a doubt. Provided he continued to keep a close watch on him whenever possible. At least for a while.

"That's another thing," Dick exclaimed. "How is he back?! He was dead."

"He didn't tell me that," Bruce admitted. "At least, not straight out. He indicated he'd been electrically shocked back to life, but not how or why."

Dick sighed, his shoulders slumping. "It's not that I don't trust your judgment, Bruce. It's just . . . well . . ."

"You don't have to explain it to me," Bruce interrupted. "You have a hard time trusting or seeing the good in any criminals. And I don't blame you. I don't trust them easily, either, as a general rule."

"But you find it easier to trust the Riddler," Dick finished. "Because of what he did on the Chessmaster case?"

"That's part of it," Bruce confirmed.

"I still don't get why he even did that," Dick said. "Was he really that bent on revenge? Or was he . . . really trying to help us?"

"I think it was some of both," Bruce said. "And more."

"He sure had a one-track mind on revenge when we stopped him from scrambling Julie's brains in the university lab."

"He'd just realized the woman he loved—the only person still alive whom he trusted—had deliberately set him up for his downfall. He was having a highly emotional and momentary reaction. With Gorman, whom he had never liked, the idea of revenge simmered in his soul for years. With Julie, whom he had loved, it was a sudden passionate burst that would have been gone once she was dead. And he would have regretted it for the rest of his life."

Dick's eyes widened slightly as Batman's riddle of that night came back to him. _"When is a villain not __**the**__ villain?"_ Dick had never quite understood it before. But now, suddenly, the lesson Batman had tried to teach was starting to make sense.

". . . You weren't trying to save _Julie_ that night, were you," he said.

"I was, but not so much for her sake. There was someone else who needed and deserved saving a lot more than she did."

Dick looked down, sobered by that revelation and not sure what to say. "Well . . . I hope I'm gonna be along on your next meeting," he declared, deciding the best option was to change the subject.

"That will probably be tonight," Bruce said. "The police are expecting another piece of the crossword puzzle."

"And if someone can't solve it . . ." Dick swallowed hard. "A building blows up?"

"That's the idea. I'm assuming this character will leave instructions for letting him know if it's been solved."

"How hard can it really be?" Dick said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

"If it's too easy, something is either very wrong or we're dealing with an amateur," Bruce said. "And I'd bet on the former more than the latter."

Dick made a face. "Maybe we should spend some time solving crossword puzzles. You know, so we'll be fresh from that when the new puzzle pieces come in."

"I think it would be more valuable to learn everything we can about Catherine Mitchell," Bruce said. "The puzzles are probably all going to be about her in some way."

Dick shrugged. "Okay. Then let's have at it." He headed for the secret entrance in the clock. "You know, I'm glad the Riddler's not dead."

"Why's that?" Bruce asked.

"You're more fun again," Dick said.

Bruce smiled a bit as he got up to follow Dick to the Batcave. Yes, he silently mused, it definitely did ease some of the burden. But he still knew he hadn't had anything to do with Nygma's return. And, he vowed, failure like that was not going to happen again.

xxxx

Julie was resting in the hospital bed, studying a crossword puzzle on the back of a magazine. Finally she scowled, setting it aside. Puzzles of any sort made her think too much about Edward, the man she had betrayed.

It was strange to think of him being dead. She hadn't known how to react when that policewoman had given her the news. She still didn't know.

Had she ever truly loved him?

She had been impressed with his genius, of course. But perhaps anything she had felt had only been infatuation because of that. As soon as she had realized he was disturbed, she had decided he had to go. No one could stand in the way of her being successful. She hadn't been above making a deal with Gorman for Edward's external hard-drive project, or for another of Edward's ideas more recently. And now Edward wasn't there to do anything to try to stop the latter deal from going through.

"_Even though he knew it was pointless and you weren't worth it, he loved you."_

That had stung, she had to admit. But she supposed it had been true. He had tried to save her from the Chessmaster, even though the attack had come right on the hills of him learning about the latest idea theft.

That had been the last time she had seen him. Or ever would again.

Julie sighed quietly, sadly to herself. "Oh Edward."

She started at the sound of a rap on the door. "Knock knock. May I come in?"

"Gorman," she said in surprise. Louder she called, "Alright."

Charles Gorman looked somewhat shaken as he stepped into the room, letting the heavy door shut behind him. "How are you doing, Julie?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she told him. "They're going to release me in a few days." She sat up straighter. "What's wrong?"

Gorman ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know how to say this, but I'm pretty sure Eddie isn't out of our hair yet."

Julie frowned. "What do you mean? He's dead. He can't get much farther away from us than that." She folded her arms. "Unless you think you're being haunted by his ghost."

"No, no, nothing like that," Gorman said impatiently. "I got a phone call from a contact. They're certain they saw Eddie in town today."

"Well, they're wrong," Julie snapped. "They have to be wrong."

"They sent me this picture they took with their cellphone." Gorman held out his phone for Julie to see.

She gasped at the sight of the longhaired man in the green suit leaning against a wall. "No," she said weakly. "It can't be."

"It's Eddie, alright. We both know it. So he's graduated from wearing that crazy jumpsuit to something more stylish. He's alive and he's around, and sooner or later he's going to be getting back to us." Gorman visibly shuddered. "We both stole another of his ideas. You know he won't let that rest."

Julie slumped back. "What's he doing?" she asked. "Is he still playing at being a criminal?"

"I don't know," Gorman frowned. "I think he's basically doing the work of a private detective or something. The way I see it is this: either he'll come after us with one of his twisted revenge schemes and throw us in a deathtrap, or he'll do something completely unexpected, like come after us legally."

"Would he have any proof?" Julie said doubtfully.

"This is Eddie we're talking about!" Gorman exclaimed. "He'll have proof. Or he'll make some up if he doesn't."

"So what can we do?" Julie frowned. "Surely you're not suggesting we don't go through with our plan after all."

"I'm not suggesting any such thing," Gorman insisted. "I want the profits and you want the success and prestige. And there's a way we might be able to get all of it and not worry so much about an attack, at least from a legal standpoint."

"Oh? And how's that?"

Gorman paused. "A married couple can't testify against each other."

Julie's eyes widened in complete shock and disbelief. "Are you asking me to _marry_ you?" she exclaimed.

"Of course it wouldn't be for love," Gorman said, with a tone in his voice that said he clearly scoffed at the very idea. "It would just be so we could help each other and not get used against each other. If we played our cards right, we could make it look like Eddie's word against ours, even if he comes up with some kind of proof. And who knows—we might be valuable to each other in other ways down the line."

Julie frowned. "I guess." She shook her head. "This is all so unexpected. You're going to have to give me time to think about it."

"Naturally I wouldn't plan on an answer right away," Gorman said. "But just know that Eddie might not wait very long. If he's really back from the dead, he has to be boiling mad. And he doesn't give up old grudges easily."

"_If,"_ Julie repeated. "So now you're not so sure it's really him in that picture."

Gorman's gaze bored into hers. "Can we really take that chance?"

Julie had to look away. "No . . . I guess we really can't. But this is a big step, a lifelong step. I'm not going to make it lightly."

"Of course, look at it from every angle," Gorman said. "But since you were really the brains between you and Eddie where it came to how to market the product, I'm sure you'll see that I'm right." He turned away. "I'll leave you to think about it."

Julie frowned to herself when she was alone again. _A proposal of marriage!_ That was the last thing she had expected to receive, from Gorman or anyone else.

Edward might have proposed, had she not betrayed him and caused the university to get rid of him. And with him, it would have been for love.

To marry for wealth and power and success . . . was she the type who would do that? Ruining Edward had been one thing, as she hadn't thought it would negatively affect her, only him. But a marriage would affect her every day. And if it was the wrong choice, she would have a difficult time getting out of it.

She smirked a bit to herself. Before she had been shot, she had been considering leaving Gotham and her past and seeking greener pastures elsewhere. Now, however, she was torn on the thought of turning Gorman down and leaving. After all, being Mrs. Charles Gorman certainly would open a lot more doors for her. And could anything resulting in such success really be the wrong choice?

The smirk faded as an image of Edward flashed in front of her eyes—badly hurt and unconscious, a single, heartbroken tear slipping from his eye.

"_He still loved you."_

Julie turned over in bed, staring at the wall.

A man who had loved her and whom she had thought dead was most likely still alive, yet all she could focus on was keeping him from ruining her because of her theft of his ideas.

There was something wrong with that somewhere, wasn't there?


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The Riddler sat back in his office, frowning at the computer screen. He hadn't heard back from Catherine since telling her about the murder. And he was feeling rather uneasy now that Chief Rojas was aware that he was back from the dead. Rojas was the type who focused on a single point and lost all track of the big picture. He could become obsessed with trying to prove the Riddler guilty, whether the crime fit his past M.O. or not. And that would definitely be bad news.

It had been a long and mostly boring day since the eventful morning. Right now the Riddler was waiting for a reply from Catherine or for the police department's latest crossword clues, whichever came first.

He wondered what his interest in the case was. Well, of course he was fascinated by the puzzles. But did he especially care what happened to Catherine? Or would he, if she wasn't paying him to be interested?

Ultimately, it was the same mystery as the Friday Night Killer case. Had he been interested in stopping the Chessmaster because of the people who would be killed? Or had he only been interested in finally having his revenge on the man who had murdered his uncle?

He had been horrified when he had realized that every murder victim was someone he had encountered, either once or many times, and that the Chessmaster had chosen them for that very reason. He had not wanted to be used as the reason for the killing. But if it had not been for that, would he have cared that much?

During that nightmarish week he had awakened from a strange dream of his uncle talking to him, telling him that he honestly wanted to protect the people, even if he didn't realize it himself.

He still didn't know that he believed that. After all, he wasn't a do-gooder. He had scoffed at The Batman making it his goal to protect the people of Gotham. It seemed such a pointless and thankless thing, to constantly endanger oneself in order to protect people who probably often didn't care and would be perfectly glad to see any vigilantes caught.

He _did_ more or less take on the role of a vigilante as a troubleshooter, as Yin had surmised. But he took cases that were fascinating and stimulating, and if he meted out any justice, it was his own personal brand of it and not The Batman's style of leaving criminals for the police after defeating them.

Although he hadn't been above sending the police to them, after he was finished with them. He enjoyed watching their amazement and confusion.

It had been an interesting few weeks in business, that was for sure.

When the door opened and a familiar black-caped figure wandered in, he came to attention and laced his fingers with a knowing smirk. "Ah, Batman," he greeted. "I was beginning to wonder if Catherine had told you the name I was using."

"She told me." Batman glided across the floor and came to a stop in front of the desk. "And less than an hour ago, the police received this." He deposited a sheet of paper on the desktop.

The Riddler reached for it. "_Catherine is a blank,_ with _Occupation_ written in parentheses. A six-letter word, I see, so it can't be actress."

"_Dancer_, maybe?" Batman suggested. "You said she was originally in the chorus."

"That's true. Well, _dancer_ would fit." But the Riddler tapped the paper, lost in thought.

"You're thinking what I am, aren't you."

"That it's too easy? Perhaps. It _would_ be a way to make sure you've found the right Catherine." The Riddler looked up. "Were instructions left on how to communicate the answer?"

"Yes. The police are to put it in the Personals column of the late-edition of the newspaper," Batman said. "Just the number and direction of the puzzle piece and the chosen answer. If they're right, another piece will be sent tonight and the answer to be printed in the morning paper. If they're wrong . . ."

"A building blows sky-high. I know. Well, if they're wrong, how will they know which building will explode?"

"A different puzzle piece will be sent, with a clue to the building inside." Batman's eyes narrowed.

"Have the police already called the newspaper with their answer?" the Riddler asked.

"Detective Yin is doing that now." Batman frowned at the paper.

"You still have your doubts," the Riddler observed.

"I just want to be on-guard in case something is going to go wrong tonight," Batman said. "And I thought you should know too."

"Why, thank you." The Riddler leaned back in the chair. "Have you seen Chief Rojas, by any chance?"

"He's boiling mad. He's convinced you're responsible for all this."

"And what do _you_ think?" The Riddler studied him carefully.

Batman's gaze bored into him. "It depends on whether this is all a front."

"That doesn't tell me what you believe."

"This place is too bare for you," Batman said flatly. "It's either a front or else you have a more technology-oriented room behind a secret panel."

"Or both," the Riddler pointed out.

"Or both," Batman agreed.

"Tell me, Batman. Could someone like me have a completely legitimate business?"

"I wouldn't know," Batman said.

"Of course, Batman doesn't have a legitimate business at all, from a legal standpoint," the Riddler mused. "But this is one of the most intriguing cities where it comes to vigilantism. Commissioner Gordon has seen to that."

"What's your point, Nygma?" Batman demanded.

"Only that people who operate from secret lairs shouldn't cast stones." The Riddler remained relaxed, slightly turning back and forth in the chair as he watched his worthy opponent and current ally.

"We don't use our lairs for the same purposes," Batman said. "Unless you're trying to tell me you really are fighting crime now." His gaze went to the rock-shaped paperweight on the desk. The Riddler's habit of leaving riddles when he probably shouldn't likely hadn't changed. The paperweight might be the lever to open the secret room he surely had.

"Not like you do and likely not for the same reasons," the Riddler said. "I won't blindly put myself in danger again and again. I have my own style and methods and so far, they've been quite profitable for me."

"That's nice for you. But you'd better not make more work for me," Batman retorted.

A shrug. "You didn't have any idea that I was back until now. I would say that means I've kept myself under the radar quite well."

"That's true." Batman glared at him. "But why are you so interested in what I think about you?"

"Respected rivals should have some opinions on each other," the Riddler said. "I may think you're foolish to devote yourself to the people of Gotham as you do, but I am intrigued by your intellect. You _are_ my favorite person to match wits with."

Batman accepted that. "Frankly, Nygma, I don't know what I think of you," he said. "Some parts of you are like an open book. The way your love blinded you, for instance. But in other ways, you're a riddle that I just haven't been able to solve. However . . ." He paused. "I don't think you're responsible for what's going on here. And you had better not prove me wrong."

"On this matter, I can't," the Riddler replied. "You're right."

Batman looked at the paper again. "It will probably be at least a couple of hours before we hear back from Crossword," he said.

"And Catherine is contacting me now," the Riddler announced, looking back to the computer screen. "She _has_ been busy, not getting back to me for all this time."

Batman was not impressed. "Does she say why?"

"She says she was taking a nap and then eating after getting settled in her new hotel room. She mentioned earlier where she is, but I suppose you already know, don't you?" The Riddler calmly looked up at him.

"You think she told me?" Batman frowned.

"I know you wouldn't be apt to let her out of your sight without taking out some insurance. Those little homing devices, for instance."

Batman nodded. "That's true. I know where she went."

"I wouldn't expect anything less." The Riddler clicked on the Reply button.

"What else does Catherine say?" Batman demanded.

"You mean about the murder? She's quite stunned by it. She can't imagine who would want to kill Amy. _Everyone_ loved Amy." This was said with a certain amount of sarcasm.

"You don't believe her?"

"It's not that," the Riddler shrugged. "It's just that isn't that what everyone says when some _nice_ person is attacked or killed?"

"It seems like it," Batman agreed.

"So far no one seems to disagree with that statement, including the director of _Foggy Nights of Gotham_. Unless someone is lying, no one can think of a single reason why Amy Sands was murdered."

"What do you think?" Batman asked. "Was it the work of Crossword?"

"It would be strange for him to do that, wouldn't it?" the Riddler mused. "The threat was against buildings, not people. And anyway, if her death was connected, he didn't give anyone enough time to falsely solve the puzzle piece."

"Then maybe she saw something she shouldn't have," Batman said. "Or her death right at this time is a coincidence."

"Both are very possible," the Riddler said. "Right now we don't know enough to say one way or the other."

Suddenly the door creaked open. "Hey," Robin chirped, "are you done talking to him alone yet? There's nothing going on outside."

Batman turned, as the Riddler raised an eyebrow. "No indication of anyone doing something strange?" Batman said.

"No mysterious packages that could be bombs," Robin shrugged. "Batgirl didn't find anything in her section, either."

"It could even already be planted," Batman frowned, "depending on what kind of sick game we're playing."

"You mean maybe it's set up so there won't be any right answers," the Riddler said.

"Or that maybe he'll decide to blow up the building anyway," Batman said. "When we don't know who it is, there's no telling what they'll do or what rules they're playing by, if any."

"You want me to go look around some more then?" Robin asked.

"Do that," Batman agreed. "Detective Yin should be checking in soon."

"Oh, did you tell her about this little place too?" the Riddler purred. "And I so wanted it to be a surprise."

"Were you planning to tell her at all?" Batman retorted.

"Eventually, if you and she didn't figure it out first. But I was sure you would."

Robin looked to him. "So, you really are 'back from the dead' all the way, right? I mean, you're not a brain-eating zombie or anything like that?"

Batman hid his amusement while the Riddler looked bored. "If I was going to indulge in something as revolting as brain-eating, don't you think I would have tried that long before now?"

"Unless you weren't hungry," Robin shrugged. "Okay, okay, I'm kidding. Nevermind."

The Riddler stood, twirling his cane in his hand. "The fact of the matter is, I am very much alive and here 'all the way.' If you don't believe me, Little Red Bird, I'd be more than happy to give you a sample in a sparring match outside."

"If you can't fight better than you used to, you'll just embarrass yourself," Robin quipped, "alive or not."

"Alright, that's enough," Batman interjected. "I'm sure we all agree that there's more important things to deal with right now. Nygma's identity has already been established."

"I was just passing the time," Robin said. "I mean, no one should know what's going on . . . yet . . ."

He trailed off as the door flew open and a panicked Yin rushed in. "We've got trouble," she announced.

"Well, hello, Yinsey," the Riddler blinked. "What kind of trouble?"

"I don't know how Crossword found out so soon, but he knows about the puzzle piece," Yin said. "We gave the wrong answer. Now he's given us this clue to what building is going to explode." She held up a sheet of paper.

Everyone leaned in to read the glued-on newspaper letters. _"13 Across: A building your confederate hates,"_ Batman read aloud in surprised concern.

"So does Chief Rojas figure that has something to do with Batman?" Robin frowned.

"No," Yin shook her head. "For once, he came to the same conclusion I did—that Crossword means the Riddler."

The Riddler folded his arms. "There are plenty of buildings I hate," he said.

"This is a six-letter word," Batman said. "It could mean Arkham. Or more likely, Gorman."

"And _that_ could either mean Gorman's house or his company building," the Riddler shot back.

Yin nodded. "There's Bomb Squad officers going to all those places right now," she said. "And it was all I could do to get Rojas to not come storming over here with a warrant for your arrest."

The Riddler stared at her, stunned. "What?"

"You've sent messages about crimes you were supposedly going to commit before," Yin said. "Rojas thinks that's what you're doing now, and pretending you're two different people by saying 'your confederate' in the message."

"That's ridiculous," the Riddler objected. "I wouldn't pretend I was two different people. If I set up such a plan, I'd let everyone know it was me!"

"And you wouldn't really have a bomb either, I'm guessing," Yin said.

"Do you really need to guess?" the Riddler returned.

"It's all too obvious," Batman frowned. "Nygma's being set up. Crossword is deliberately going after a building Nygma might once have attacked in a fit of rage."

"You know that, and I know that," Yin said, "but you know how crazy Chief Rojas is about the obvious." She looked to the Riddler. "I'm sorry."

The Riddler sighed. "It isn't your fault Chief Rojas is a dolt."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Robin cried. "Let's get out there and find out where the bomb is! Maybe the guy will be hanging around because he wants to watch everything burn up."

"That's a possibility," Batman agreed.

"None of those buildings are close to here," Yin pointed out. "The Bomb Squad will get there first."

"We'll go anyway," Batman said. "We'll split up. I'll go to Arkham. Robin, you try Gorman's house. Detective Yin can go to the company building."

"And I'll go with whomever I please?" the Riddler said.

"Something like that," Batman grunted.

"Yinsey might make for the best company," the Riddler smirked.

"Then come on," Yin barked, turning to head out the door.

Robin gawked after them a moment, while Batman seemed unaffected. "We've got a bomb to stop," he said. "Let's go."

"Right," Robin said, snapping to.

Yin waited until she and the Riddler were in her car before speaking. "I know you didn't opt to come along just for the pleasure of my company," she said. "There's something you want to talk to me about. So spill it."

The Riddler looked to her. "If this really is being done to cast suspicion on me, it has to be by someone who hates me. Do you know for a fact that the Chessmaster is still in Arkham?"

"I called and spoke with the head guard," Yin said as she drove. "He was there, and the guard let me hear a sample of him babbling about chess as confirmation." She sighed. "I don't think he's coherent enough to come up with a scheme like this."

The Riddler gave a dark smirk. "Good." But then it faded. "Of course, we can't forget that he pretended to not be able to play chess in order to stay undercover as the Chessmaster. He could be pretending to be mindlessly babbling now."

"I know; I've thought of that," Yin said. "But I've checked on him several times over the past few weeks. I think his insanity is for real."

"Let's hope that now it's just harmless insanity," the Riddler said.

"But who does that leave, Riddler?" Yin demanded. "Who else could hate you enough and have enough mental prowess to try this?"

"Oh, I suppose I've made many enemies through the years," was the vague, nonchalant reply.

"I know you're not really as easy-going about it as that," Yin shot back.

"It could be someone I knew from the university," the Riddler said. "Another scientist, perhaps."

"Can you think of any you didn't get along with?" Yin gripped the wheel, not looking forward to the possibility of seeing Gorman again but hoping he would be saved from the bomb.

"As long as they didn't get in my way, there wasn't a problem."

"And did they stay out of your way?" Yin asked.

"In general."

"Then there were some who didn't?" Yin pointedly countered.

"All schools and universities have at least one bully. And I was the type who was typically a target. I had my share of misfortune."

"Well, could it be one of them?" Yin exclaimed.

"Not unless their grudges went deeper than I thought," the Riddler frowned. "Most bullies forget about such things. It's the victims who remain scarred. Anyway, once I was discredited and asked to leave, they had what they wanted."

"Maybe someone didn't like that you finally, publicly redeemed yourself on the Friday Night Killer case," Yin said. "They might be trying to shame your memory—or you, if they know you're alive."

"I guess that's possible," the Riddler conceded.

The building soon loomed ahead of them, as well as the flashing lights of police cars and the silhouettes of the gathering people. Yin drew closer and parked, leaping out in seemingly one motion. "Detective Ellen Yin," she barked at the nearest Bomb Squad officer. "What's going on?"

"No bombs have been found yet, Detective," was the reply. "The building's been evacuated and we're going over every level."

"And there was no word on how long we'd have to find it?" Yin frowned.

"No word at all," the officer shook his head.

The Riddler leaned on his cane as he pondered the problem. "If this person is truly trying to implicate me, he might have studied my methods enough to be aware of what I would likely do with a bomb."

"And what's that?" Yin asked.

"I'd either put it in Gorman's office or somewhere along the path he normally takes, if he has a set route. And I'd give him a chance to solve a riddle or two to turn it off. Actually, I'd much rather construct a full-scale obstacle course in the building," the Riddler smirked, "with a bomb threat as only a small part of it. The only time I used real bombs was when I wanted to send my stolen Bio Discs to the bottom of Gotham Bay and ruin Gorman when he tried to market them."

The Bomb Squad officer turned to look at him, only really noticing him now. "Chief Rojas said you were back," he gasped. "What are you doing here?"

"Consulting," the Riddler replied. "And hopefully proving myself guiltless on this matter."

"Nevermind about him," Yin said. "What about it? Do you know where in the building Gorman typically walks to get to his office?"

"Not every step," the officer frowned. "We've checked a general route from the elevator to Mr. Gorman's office."

"Is Gorman here?" Yin asked. "Find him and ask him!"

"Yes, Detective," the officer exclaimed. He hurried off, calling into his walkie-talkie.

"Hmm. Perhaps you should be in charge here instead of the Bomb Squad," the Riddler remarked, giving Yin an impressed look.

"I'm sure they're doing just fine," Yin said. "I'm going to try to find who's in charge. Do you see Gorman?"

"No. Of course, knowing Gorman, it's debatable whether he would stay at all. He would probably run for the exit and drive off, not bothering to care if anyone was still trapped inside the building." The Riddler slung his cane over his shoulder and started forward, casually glancing at the crowd but not expecting to see his nemesis anywhere.

"I wouldn't be surprised," Yin said. "It's no wonder you thought he sabotaged you. He really isn't a nice guy."

"To put it mildly," the Riddler said.

A hand suddenly snaked out of the darkness, clamping down on his shoulder. "Are you looking for me, Eddie?" Gorman asked. "What a coincidence; I've been looking for you too. I had a hunch you'd be around somewhere close, watching all the mayhem you caused."

The Riddler spun around, glowering at the businessman. "_I_ have just arrived with Yinsey here. And before that, my whereabouts can be verified by Yinsey as well as The Batman and his sidekick. I was nowhere near your building when this supposed bomb was planted."

"You could've set it hours in advance, not really planning to give the police fair time to answer your sick crossword game," Gorman retorted. "Or you could have had those henchmen of yours set it."

"He didn't set it, Gorman," Yin insisted.

Gorman frowned. "Well, it's typical that you'd side with him. The whole police department has gone to the dogs. They're all supporting freaks!"

"I guess it wouldn't do any good to remind you that you'd be dead if those 'freaks' hadn't saved you more than once," Yin said dryly. She folded her arms. "We need to know the path you take when you're going to your office. The bomb has probably been set up somewhere along there."

"What?" Gorman scoffed. "I don't take any special path. And if you want to know where the bomb is, all you have to do is grill Eddie for a while."

"We don't have time for this!" Yin cried. "Tell us exactly what you do each day when you come to work."

Gorman opened his mouth, but whether he was going to cooperate or argue was never established.

A tremendous _boom_ rang forth from the top of the skyscraper, blowing out several windows. The crowd screamed as glass rained down on them. The Riddler threw up his arms, shielding himself.

Gorman stared at the sight for one long moment, even as firefighters rushed forward to extinguish the blaze. Then he whipped about, eyes flashing, and grabbed the Riddler by the shoulders. The cane clattered to the ground in the man's surprise.

"You did this!" Gorman yelled. "You deliberately set that bomb to wreck my building and kill me in the process!" He gave the younger man a violent shake. "I'll never be free of you, will I?! Even knowing I wasn't the one who sabotaged you won't make you leave me alone! You're an incorrigible nutcase!"

Yin only took a moment to gape at the scene in shock before dashing over to separate the two. "Stop. Stop it!" she yelled, trying to push Gorman back.

The Riddler reached up, gripping Gorman's wrists as he wrenched them away from him. "I almost wish I _had_ done it, Gormey," he said icily. "If it wasn't for how I'm being implicated in this mess, I'd congratulate whoever actually is responsible. You deserve every bit of the damage." He bent down, picking up his cane before turning to walk away.

"Riddler."

He paused at the sound of Yin's voice.

"Where are you going?"

"To get a closer look at the building," he said. "There's also the chance this is meant as a challenge to me. If so, there should be a clue somewhere."

Yin started to walk over to him. "I'll look with you. If you find something, don't do anything stupid."

He turned. "Oh, you don't have to worry about _that,_ Yinsey," he said. "At this point, I don't even know to whom I should turn my wrath."

"Well, when you _do_ know," Yin said without skipping a beat.

"Then I should leave them for the police? Or The Batman?" The Riddler again slung his cane over his shoulder. "I fight my own battles."

"Just as long as you don't fight them all the way back to Arkham."

He paused, moved and perhaps even somewhat shaken by Yin's unwavering tone and piercing glare. "No," he promised. "Not to Arkham. Never again to Arkham."

He didn't plan to go back there in any case. But knowing someone actually cared whether he did or not certainly added an awesome and amazing responsibility to his shoulders.

Yin relaxed. "Good."

And someone actually believing he would make the right choice . . . that was something he had never thought he would ever experience again.

That was reason enough to sober him and make him want to think more carefully on his plans.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

The firefighters refused to let anyone go inside Gorman's company building until it was thoroughly inspected for stability. And since the news came through that Chief Rojas was at Gorman's home and was immediately coming out due to the bomb, Yin and the Riddler mutually decided to search around the exterior of the building for any possible clues before Rojas's arrival.

"So much for giving us twenty-four hours to solve the puzzle," Yin muttered as they walked around the side.

"I was wondering about that," the Riddler said. "Was there any explanation?"

"It seemed like we had up to twenty-four hours to come up with an answer and put it in whatever was the latest edition of the newspaper," Yin said. "Once we put it in, our time was up, even if it was within the first hour."

"That makes sense," the Riddler mused.

Yin hesitated. "Something bothers me about Gorman," she said.

"_Everything_ bothers _me_ about Gorman," the Riddler retorted.

"No, I mean, isn't it weird that he grabbed you like that and accused you of doing this?" Yin frowned. "I don't remember him being that emotional before. I thought he was afraid of you."

The Riddler paused. "He's made accusations against me before, but I suppose it's true that he isn't usually so physical about it. I just assumed it was the last straw for him."

"And that's possible," Yin agreed. "But on the other hand . . ." She turned, looking to where Gorman was watching them like a hawk while standing apart from everyone else and talking quietly into his cellphone.

The Riddler looked too. "What are you thinking?" he wondered. "Surely you don't think Gormey blew up his own office just to make me look bad."

"Batman told me he blew up his own boat trying to kill you," Yin said.

The Riddler paused. "That's true." He stared at Gorman with new eyes. Was it possible? "Oh, but he couldn't be Crossword," he realized. "He was terrible at riddles, and with him it wasn't a façade."

"Maybe he has an accomplice." Yin folded her arms. "I don't know; maybe I'm just imagining things. But something still seems off."

"Yes," the Riddler said thoughtfully. "It does." He watched Gorman for another moment, caught up in the thoughts and images now turning over in his mind. Then he snapped to with another realization. "And now you've got me using your name for our Puzzlemaster."

Yin regarded him in a bit of amusement. "Is that so bad?"

"No, but I like my name better," the Riddler smirked.

Yin rolled her eyes. "You always like what you come up with better."

The Riddler was half-listening. "What's this?" He bent down, picking up a newspaper page that had been nailed to the ground.

Yin came around to look. "A crossword puzzle. Typical."

"With two words filled in." The Riddler held it into the light so she could see.

_Hello, Riddler!_

Yin's eyes narrowed. "So he _is_ challenging you!" She folded her arms. "Why do you seem to have the habit of bringing out the freaks? First the Chessmaster and now this?!"

"I intend to find out," the Riddler replied, darkly. "No one uses me as their patsy and gets away with it."

"Do you think it's someone like the Chessmaster and he really does have a grudge against you?" Yin peered at him. "Or maybe he's like you and just wants a brain to pick."

"Trying to get my attention by nearly getting me arrested will only make _me_ develop a grudge against _them,_" the Riddler said. "I suppose it could be some twisted way to try to capture my interest, but I would be far more likely to think that they just have it in for me."

"Not that you really have the best track record for figuring out what people think," Yin muttered.

The Riddler stiffened slightly. "Another jab at my choosing to stay ambiguous the last few weeks?"

Yin sighed. "No. I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry."

"An apology from Detective Yin? How unusual. How . . . intriguing." He looked to her, searching her face and eyes for an explanation.

She didn't really want to talk about it. But now that she had blurted out something she regretted, she supposed he deserved to know why. "I was thinking about Julie," she admitted. "But I wasn't speaking against you, really. I was feeling disgusted with her."

He studied her as a certain sadness came over him. "Does she know about my 'death'?"

"Oh yeah. I told her." Yin felt angry again as the memory of the conversation came back to her. "She couldn't even dredge up a single tear. I haven't told her you're alive."

He nodded. "Maybe I'll tell her myself, if I feel like it." He paused. "What about you, Yinsey? Did you cry over me?"

Now Yin was the one stiffening. "We weren't talking about me, Riddler."

"Of course, if you'd rather not . . ."

"I'd rather not." Yin started to walk off, but stopped at the strange man's next words.

"It may matter to you whether I'm dead or alive, but I wonder if you even know why," he said. "You already admitted you didn't fully understand your feelings. And you were so conflicted on what you thought of me during the Friday Night Killer case. Have you ever sorted that out?"

She turned back to face him. "Actually, no, I haven't," she said. "I came to understand that you still have good in you, but you aren't entirely reformed. You still have criminal ideas and tendencies. And I came on the police force with a zero tolerance policy for anything criminal."

The Riddler was unfazed. "And I suppose that's why you and The Batman became such close friends," he said. "Because you have a zero tolerance policy for anything criminal, including vigilantes."

Yin looked away. It _was _a strange contrast, wasn't it? She had gone from being brought into the Gotham Police Department to catch Batman to working with him after the Joker destroyed Ethan's mind. And although she had continued to exhibit her low tolerance for criminals, her growing trust of Batman had worked on that to the point that she had to admit that while she could not excuse crime, she had to acknowledge that not all criminals were irredeemable or completely evil.

"If you're trying to tell me that you will never be able to fully trust me because I have admitted to you that in some ways I'm now operating as a vigilante, that's all well and fine, but are you sure it's accurate?"

Finally Yin looked back to him. "It's not that so much as it is that you still crave revenge against people you feel are using you," she said.

"Does the mere act of desiring that revenge make someone a criminal?"

Yin clenched a fist, not liking how the Riddler was causing her to probe deeply within herself and dig up some uncomfortable questions that she had not wanted to be faced with. "No," she conceded. "But it's a cause for concern when you've tried to commit criminal acts in the past while looking for your revenge."

"Touché. That's one way of looking at it, anyway. Another way is that I'm seeking a more fitting justice than the legal system can often provide."

"Ohh. _Riddler!_" Yin regarded him in utter exasperation. "I still don't believe it's right to take the law into your own hands. I know, there's The Batman, but that's not such a cut-and-dried situation."

"Especially now that Commissioner Gordon has become involved. But maybe it's not so cut-and-dried in other situations, either, including mine."

Yin massaged her forehead. "What is it you want, Riddler?"

"I only want to understand where we stand, Detective."

Yin flinched. The last time he had addressed her in that way had been right before his death, when she had feared for his life and he had known she needed to keep her attention on the other hostages. _"Just focus on what you're supposed to, Detective."_

Five minutes later he had electrocuted himself and the Chessmaster and had lain lifeless on the floor.

Those words had haunted her since then.

Now, he blinked in surprise at her sudden change in expression and manner. "Did I strike a nerve?" he asked in genuine concern.

She sighed. "It's just . . . well, what I was trying to say all along is that I don't know where we 'stand.' You can be every bit as exasperating as you were all the other times I met you, including on the Friday Night Killer case. You wanted immunity, yet you're toying with it on some of these new ventures of yours. You can't stop loving puzzles and challenges. You still want revenge when you've been wronged. You seek a justice that doesn't always fit with what the law says is right. There's a darkness in you that doesn't—and maybe can't—change. I don't fully understand you. I'm not sure I ever will."

He smirked, darkly. "Well, you're right that I don't fit into a cookie-cutter image of what a law-abiding citizen should be. I've never fit into anyone's nice little patterns for me. I'm a riddle in the truest sense of the word. But a riddle is only worth something when you don't know what it means." Suddenly he sobered. "I guess that's why I lost Julie. When I told her all about myself, there was nothing left for her to figure out. She came to her own conclusions and has never abandoned them since."

"There was nothing left that she _wanted_ to figure out," Yin said. "She decided she knew all the answers when she really didn't. And actually, it's good that you found out she's like that. Someone so superficial isn't worth loving.

"But you already realized that I'm not like her. I've seen you at your worst and also at your best. And I've chosen to see all sides of you, the good as well as the bad, whereas she can only focus on the bad." She paused. "And in spite of how frustrating you can be, or maybe partially because of it, I _want_ to understand you better—even if you'll never make complete sense to me."

He looked at her for a long moment. This was so new to him that it never ceased to amaze him when she expressed such interest. He wasn't sure it was ever something that would not be amazing to him.

"Yes," he said slowly. "I believe you. And I suppose I'm still trying to get used to it. After being rejected by everyone else, it's incredible to think of being cared about by a cop."

Yin hesitated. Then, slowly, she laid her hand on his shoulder. "It _is _incredible. But just keep thinking about it."

He looked to her, surprised by the gesture but not commenting on it. "You can be sure I will."

Yin knew that she would as well.

xxxx

Robin sighed in exasperation as he swung away from Gorman's house. Nothing had happened there, and now Chief Rojas had the news that the bomb had been at the company building—and that it had gone off. He had driven away ranting about the Riddler, certain that he was the villain in this mess.

"I wonder if anything interesting happened at Arkham," Robin muttered to himself as he took out his communicator. "Hey, Batman, come in."

"I've heard the news, Robin," Batman said. "The bomb went off at the company building."

"I guess no one there at Arkham knows anything about the case or someone obsessed with crossword puzzles," Robin said.

"Not really. Some of them think Nygma's behind it. Others are willing to admit that it doesn't seem like him and aren't sure who could be doing it instead."

"So now what?" Robin wondered.

"You go to the building and see what's happening there," Batman directed. "I'm going to see Catherine."

"Do you think that will really help?" Robin frowned. "It seemed like she wasn't very helpful before."

"She has to know more than she thinks she knows," Batman insisted. "Someone wants to kill her. Somewhere in her mind is the reason why. If we knew who, we could stop them before Catherine or anyone else winds up dead."

"Right. Okay, I'll check in with you after I see what's going on at the building," Robin said. "One thing I know right now—Gorman's mad."

"And probably blaming Nygma," Batman grunted.

"Probably," Robin said. "And the Riddler's probably being obnoxious about it."

"By now he might be mad, especially after Chief Rojas already accused him earlier today."

"So he should be watched pretty closely, right?"

"Pretty closely," Batman agreed. "If he finds out who's behind this before the rest of us do, he might not want to share that information. I'm sure he feels that things are now personal."

"I could put a homing device on him," Robin offered.

"He'd be expecting that," Batman said. "He'd find it."

"Okay. So I'll just make sure I don't lose him, then."

"And you can tell Batgirl too. You and she should trade off on shifts."

"Will do."

Batman swooped down into the Batmobile as he hung up with Robin. He was both angry and determined. Catherine knew more than she had told. And if she _consciously_ knew more than she had told, Batman had to wonder why.

xxxx

Catherine was pacing in her hotel room when Batman arrived on her new balcony. He rapped on the glass and she looked up with a start. "Oh!" Quickly she came over, unlocking one of the doors and opening it. "What's the latest?"

"That would depend on what you last knew," Batman replied.

"Well . . . about the murder, I guess," she told him. "I don't know anything about the puzzle pieces tonight."

"Look outside." Batman stepped aside so that she had a clear view of Gorman's company building, which was still smoking on the top level.

Catherine gawked. "I didn't even see that! So the police gave the wrong answer?"

"Something like that. And no one solved the riddle of the endangered building in time." Batman looked at her. "It looks like Crossword is trying to frame the Riddler for his crimes."

Catherine gave him a blank look. "The Riddler? That nutcase who tried to blow up half of Gotham with lime Jell-O? I thought he was dead."

"He isn't. Crossword may or may not know that. He could simply be trying to destroy the memories of the good the Riddler did when he . . . nearly died. If he knows the Riddler is alive, however, he may be trying to draw him out."

"And use Gotham as their playground and me as the prize?" Catherine made a face. "I don't like that game."

"And I don't like that we don't have more to go on!" Batman snapped. "You know more than you're saying. Maybe you honestly don't know that you know. Or maybe for some reason, you're aware of it and you're concealing it. But the stakes get higher every few hours! I need to know what's in your mind."

Catherine growled in frustration and curled her fingers as she stormed away. "I need to know it too!" she cried. "I don't like being in hiding. I can't live like this for much longer. They've been rehearsing scenes without me in the play, and now that Amy's dead they have to scramble to re-cast her part, but I'm going to be needed soon and I don't intend to pass that up."

"So you'd go out even if you're still in danger?" Batman retorted.

"I'd wear disguises to the theatre. And maybe have Mr. Nashton around as my bodyguard. Or you." She studied him thoughtfully. "You look like you'd be stronger than him."

"I don't hire out." Batman looked back at her. "Is there any chance the play itself could be the motive?"

"What, someone else wanting my part?" Catherine scoffed. "It's not a big part. If they were going to go after anyone, it should be the stars."

"Who are the stars?"

"Denise Claymore and Jonathan Bradley." Catherine folded her arms. "They haven't been in danger at all."

"Do you know how they're reacting to Amy Sands' death?"

"I haven't spoken to them, but of course they'd be shaken." Catherine turned, walking to the couch. She collapsed into it with a sigh. "Denise would probably say she'd always expected something like that would happen someday, though. She's never liked performing in our dump of a theatre."

"What's the play about, anyway?"

A shrug. "It takes place during Prohibition. A girl from the right side of the tracks ends up involved with a small-time hoodlum. He wants out of the rackets, but can't get out so easily. It's kind of like _Romeo and Juliet_ or _West Side Story_ in the 1920s."

"With the same kind of ending?"

Catherine winked at him. "The play's never been performed before. I'm not telling the ending. Professional courtesy. You'll just have to come see it on opening night."

"That will be too late."

"Oh, there's no way the play could be connected with anything anyway," Catherine scoffed.

"Probably not, but tell me this: is it based on a true story?"

"It's supposed to be, but I've never found any record of it," Catherine said. "Not that I've looked very hard." She frowned. "Now, don't you have any better way to find out who's after me than quizzing me about the play?"

"What's your character's role?" Batman returned.

Catherine blew out her breath in frustration. "I'm the younger sister of Denise's character. It's really a small part; she just walks in and out of a few scenes, basically, making smart remarks wherever she goes."

"I see. And Amy Sands' character?"

"The best friend of the sister. She's only in one scene." Catherine stretched her arm across the top of the couch. "So tell me, Dark Knight, do you have any brilliant theories at all from this fascinating conglomeration of information?"

"I'll tell you after I've researched the play and the story behind it." Batman looked at her. "And there's absolutely nothing else you can tell me?"

"Sorry." Catherine frowned. "It doesn't seem like you or Mr. Nashton are really getting anywhere with this case."

"You haven't given us much of anything to go on," Batman replied.

"Well, I guess you can't pull rabbits out of empty hats now, can you?" Catherine sighed, massaging her forehead. "I've been trying to think all day of something that would help solve this mystery. I just don't know."

"Have you always lived in Gotham?" Batman tried.

"Yes," Catherine blinked.

"And you've never made any enemies that you knew about."

"Well, not unless you count Jaycie from kindergarten, who hated me for taking her doll," Catherine smirked. "Really, Batman, I've mostly lived under the radar. Even when I started getting into show business, I was just in the chorus for the longest time. A face in the crowd, hardly memorable from one show to the next."

"You must have made an impression on someone, to get a speaking part this time," Batman said.

"The director thought I had the right look for the character," Catherine said. "I read for him and he was impressed. End of story."

"And all of a sudden someone starts trying to kill you," Batman frowned. "Was there anyone else the director liked for the part besides you?"

"Someone who might want to kill me and then step into it?" Catherine jeered. "I guess you're going to say next that someone killed Amy Sands to get her one-scene part."

"It's not impossible. Even one speaking scene is better than the chorus."

"Okay, okay." Catherine gazed into the distance, thinking. "I guess there _was_ one other girl he liked for my role. Marsha . . . Taylor, I think. Yeah."

"What's she like?"

"A nice kid, really. I can't feature her going around dropping sandbags and speeding along in cars to run people down like it's _Grand Theft Auto._"

"I'll talk to her anyway. What about Amy's character? Was there a secondary choice for her?"

"Not that I know of," Catherine said. "I was so excited to get a part that I didn't pay attention to any of the other chorus girls that were getting some."

"Yet you really don't act that excited about your part now," Batman said. "You seem more dismissive of it than anything else."

"It's not that," Catherine said hurriedly. "It's just that I don't want to make a big deal out of it because I think it's crazy to think it could be a motive for murder."

"Let's hope you're right." Batman turned to leave, sensing he wasn't going to learn anything else here tonight.

"Oh, Batman . . ." Catherine got up and followed him to the balcony doors. "Was anyone hurt when that bomb went off?"

"No one was killed," Batman said. "The building was evacuated. But someone could have been hurt by falling debris."

Catherine nodded in approval. "Well, at least I don't have to feel guilty for the puzzle piece about me causing someone's death."

"This time," Batman said.

"Say, what's your deal, anyway?" Catherine demanded. "You act like it really would have been my fault!"

"I hope not. But I noticed a curious thing. When the Riddler found out that the Chessmaster was killing people the Riddler had met, he felt terrible about it even though it wasn't his fault. I'm not sure you'd feel the same."

"Well, maybe I really wouldn't," Catherine retorted. "I mean, it's not like I can help it if some screwball starts killing people because of me."

Batman stepped onto the balcony. "Let's also hope that we'll be able to stop it from happening again. By the way . . ." He turned again to look at her. "Since _dancer_ was obviously not the correct six-letter word for your occupational choice, what would have fit instead?"

Catherine blinked. "I honestly don't know," she said. "Maybe they filled the puzzle out wrong and they meant _actress _instead."

"What about _singer_?" Batman asked.

Catherine shook her head. "I've never sang, just danced." She shrugged. "I'll have to think about that one for a while."

"You do that. And I'll have the next puzzle piece brought to you before it's put in any newspaper. That's what should have been done with this one." With that, Batman soared off the balcony on his Bathook, leaving Catherine staring after him.

xxxx

Julie slowly placed the telephone receiver in its cradle, her brow furrowed in her troubled state. What Gorman had just told her wasn't good. She wasn't sure what to think, but she knew she didn't like it one bit.

When the phone rang again almost instantly, she jumped a mile.

A frown crossed her features. She had to be calm. Any other reaction was ridiculous, after all.

She reached for the receiver. "Hello?"

She went stiff at the familiar voice that greeted her ears, tinged with delight and madness.

"What's going on?" Julie demanded. "You're responsible for everything, aren't you?"

She clutched the phone as her caller confirmed her suspicions and why it was happening.

"No," she exclaimed. "I told you how it was. You're twisting it!"

The wild retort told her that she was not phasing or discouraging her caller one bit. And when a loud _click_ resounded in her ear, she knew all the more that it was hopeless.

For the second time in five minutes she let the phone drop into its cradle. Then, disconsolate and even frightened, she slumped forward, staring blankly at the mattress.

What should she do?

What _could_ she do?

Report the call?

Let everything happen as was planned and desired?

She frowned. Of course that wouldn't be right, but it had been ages since she had really done much that could be termed "right." And was she really about to stand in the way?

She laid down again, switching off the light. Her conscience might bother her for a while, but she had largely stopped listening to it years ago. Most likely, she would do nothing, as usual.

"Sorry, Edward," she said quietly. "You brought this on yourself by being such an uncooperative psychopath. If you die this time, it's your own fault. And this time, you won't come back."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

It was a relief to finally be free of the hospital the next morning. Julie had spent several long weeks there, recovering from the two bullets she had taken on the Friday Night Killer case and going through physical therapy to fully heal her body. Now, on this overcast autumn morning, she had slung her purse over one shoulder and was finally stepping outside to return to her apartment near the university.

"Congratulations on your release, Julie."

She jumped a mile at the familiar voice. "Ed-Edward," she gasped.

Edward was leaning against a lamppost by the curb, his arms folded and his cane held in one hand. "You weren't expecting to see a ghost?"

She backed up, unconsciously gripping her purse strap. "No, I . . . I knew you were alive."

"Oh?" Honestly surprised, he pushed away from the lamppost and took a step towards her. "How?"

"Gorman. He . . . he showed me a picture of you that someone took yesterday." Inwardly Julie kicked herself for stammering. That was not like her.

Edward knew it, too. "You're not afraid of me, are you?" he asked.

She sighed. "No, of course not. You tried to save me, after all. Even though you failed." There was that pesky prick of guilt again. _If he only knew. . . ._ She pushed it away. "I really wasn't expecting you to do that."

"_I_ wasn't expecting me to do it, either," he replied matter-of-factly. "It's not in my nature to rescue turncoats."

"Well . . . I guess I should thank you for trying." Julie looked around the parking lot with impatience. She had called a cab, but it still wasn't here.

"You say Gorman showed you a picture of me. Have you been in contact with him a lot while I've been gone?" Behind the mask, his eyes darkened. "I haven't forgotten what you were doing together before you were hurt."

"We . . . haven't gone ahead with that project," Julie said. It wasn't entirely a false statement; they had been waiting for Julie to heal, out of necessity since she had still needed to add the finishing touches to the information database that had been Edward's idea. But they had still been planning on completing it. Even learning that the Riddler was alive hadn't altered those plans, as far as Julie knew.

"Oh? If not business, what do you find to talk about with him?" He spoke coldly, his voice clipped. "How to steal every one of my ideas, since you believed I was dead and wouldn't be able to stop you?"

"No, Edward. That's not it at all." Again Julie looked around nervously. Where _was_ that cab?

"What, then? His only interests are business and money. Your only interest is success."

It was out of desperation to get off the subject of stealing his ideas that Julie finally turned around and blurted, "If you have to know, Gorman's asked me to marry him."

He hadn't thought that anything Julie could say would surprise him again. But this announcement sent him falling back, his mouth dropping open. "What?"

Emboldened by his shock, Julie folded her arms. "You heard me."

"But . . ." Recovering, he stepped forward again. "Julie, he's old enough to be your father!"

"That's such a stupid argument these days," Julie countered.

He shook his head. "I'm the last person who would discriminate against May-December romances, except in this case. Surely you don't think he's actually interested in you!"

"Of course not," Julie scoffed. "We talked about that. It would be a marriage of convenience. In other words, business-related. You're right that we wouldn't have anything to talk about except for business."

"Would you really be happy being tied down to him?" he demanded. "You've never been the marrying type."

"Maybe I wouldn't be happy," Julie said, "but since our interests are so similar, I think it's worth considering."

He stood there, gripping his cane for a long moment. "If I had ever asked you, would you have agreed?" he wondered.

She froze. "Maybe, if it was before I really knew what you're like."

"Then it would have been a disastrous and short marriage, wouldn't it. It was bad enough the way it was."

"Yes, I guess it was, wasn't it." The cab was finally pulling up now, to Julie's relief.

Edward reached up, putting his hand on the roof of the cab as it stopped. "You don't regret what you did to me, do you." The hurt filled his voice. "And you'd do it again if it would help you. You proved that by stealing another of my ideas."

Julie flinched. He was right, more right than he probably even knew. And the thought of him finding out brought back the guilt, as well as a certain terror.

"If you already know, why are you even asking me?" she retorted, opening the back door of the cab.

Edward grabbed the door too. "Because I want to be proven wrong!" he cried.

"Alright." Julie gripped the door, her knuckles turning white. She ignored the cabbie staring in shock. "Sometimes I _do_ regret it. Just a little. But not enough to make me seriously wish I hadn't done it. Your invention started me on the path to success. And that's all I care about." She eased herself onto the seat.

Overcome, Edward slammed the door after her. "Then you and Gorman should be very happy together," he snarled. With that he turned, clutching his cane as he fled the scene.

"Whoa," the cabbie gasped. "What was that all about? And who was that guy? He looks kind of like that Riddler character who used to hang around town."

"Nevermind him," Julie snapped. "Just drive."

"Okay, okay. Sheesh."

She slumped back into the seat. She would probably accept Gorman's proposal. But if Edward had any idea that the trouble they were putting him in extended far beyond the theft of his ideas, she wasn't sure how long any of them would last.

xxxx

Bruce sighed, sinking into the couch and staring at the ceiling. The night had been long and had involved Batman finding the playwright of _Foggy Nights of Gotham_ and demanding a copy to look through, just in case the play _was_ the motive for the madness. The playwright had objected, but then finally gave in on the threat of withholding evidence in a murder.

Bruce had just finished reading the final draft. It had been a long and dark and twisted tale of doomed love in gangster-ridden Gotham of the 1920s, just like Catherine had told him it was. It had ended with the lovers being gunned down during a gang war. But unlike _Romeo and Juliet_ or even _West Side Story_, the opposing sides didn't try to mend things at the end. The surviving ones walked off, guns in hand, to prepare for battle another day. The closing shot was of the bodies lying in the street.

"You've finished reading the play, I see."

He looked up at Alfred's voice. "Yeah," he said, covering his mouth as he yawned. "I really don't see how anything in it could have to do with the case."

"Probably not. And I couldn't find any record of it being based on a true incident." Alfred frowned. "What do you plan on doing now, Master Bruce?"

"Did you have any luck running that check on Catherine Mitchell?" Bruce asked.

"Not very much, I'm afraid," Alfred replied. "She has done her conniving best to stay out of the tabloids. Even legitimate sources seem to know very little about her."

"Not even her childhood, where she grew up?" Bruce sat up straight, leafing through the pages of the script.

"Not even that. It only briefly mentions one of our seedier neighborhoods. Considering the theatre where she performs, it doesn't seem that she's traveled very far from her roots."

"I guess I'll have to cover the whole area then," Bruce sighed, not looking forward to the prospect.

"Do you really think the answer lies there, Sir?" Alfred wondered.

"I have no idea. But since we've been striking out everywhere else, we surely can't end up any worse than we are right now." Bruce set the script aside. "Catherine Mitchell isn't one of my favorite people, but I still can't let her just be cornered and killed. And in this game, the entire city suffers the more we fail to protect her."

"That's unfortunately true," Alfred lamented. "Mr. Gorman was on the telly this morning, being interviewed about the explosion at his building last night."

"What?" Bruce sat up straight. "Why didn't you let me know?"

"It was only a very brief clip," Alfred explained. "By the time I was over at the clock, it was already over."

Bruce sighed. "Well, what did he say?"

"Mostly that he knew who was behind the attack and that person would pay dearly," Alfred said.

"He didn't specifically name Nygma?" Bruce frowned.

"I suppose he was afraid of being sued," Alfred said. "Or perhaps laughed off the screen, since most people still believe the Riddler is dead. Actually, on that note, I'm surprised Chief Rojas didn't announce that the Riddler is alive."

"Commissioner Gordon squelched that from getting out," Bruce explained. "He felt people needed to focus on Crossword right now and not start panicking thinking the Riddler's out to cause trouble. Not that they were ever as afraid of the Riddler as they are of, say, the Joker."

"And what exactly _is_ the Riddler out to do?" Alfred wondered.

"To be honest, Alfred, I'm not sure." Bruce stood, leaving the script on the couch. "He's operating as what's basically a private detective, only he's careful not to say that's what he is."

"So he's still not quite within the law then," Alfred said.

"But there's no proof against him and right now, at least, he doesn't seem to be doing any harm." Bruce headed for the kitchen. "I'm willing to consider him an ally after the Friday Night Killer case. I just don't trust him completely. I'll keep watching him after this mystery is over."

"A very good idea, I'd say," Alfred said.

"So I'll just get some breakfast and head over to Catherine Mitchell's childhood neighborhood—or what _might_ be it, anyway," Bruce said.

"You should really take time for some sleep, Master Bruce," Alfred chided. "You stayed up all night reading that ghastly depressing script."

"Sleep will have to wait, Alfred," Bruce said. "I have the feeling that today's going to be busy."

Alfred sighed. "Each day in the life of Bruce Wayne, alias The Batman, generally is."

xxxx

The Riddler wasn't sure exactly where he was going. At the moment, he didn't particularly care. His thoughts were in a twisted, agonized whirl.

He wasn't even fully sure why he was so upset. After all, he certainly hadn't entertained thoughts of trying to get back in with Julie. She didn't want him and he had no desire to be with someone who had deliberately arranged his downfall.

Maybe it was because he was sure that she and Gorman were still conspiring against him. A union of marriage would only allow them more opportunities to band together with him as their common enemy. Who knew what else they might take from him and then cleverly lie about?

Maybe it was that his feelings for Julie still ran deep in spite of what she had done to him, and that even though he didn't want to be with her, he didn't like receiving the news that she was doing this with her life.

Maybe it just frustrated and upset him that he had been so seriously fooled by the girl. He had thought she was so sweet, so kind, so understanding, and instead she was anything but. He had told her before that success was her lover, and indeed, that was all she wanted from Gorman.

He stopped and blinked when a brown, wooden apartment door was suddenly in front of him. And it wasn't to just any apartment. Somehow he had walked all the way over to Yin's apartment house and up to her door.

He stared in disbelief. What a thing for him to subconsciously do! He didn't want to tell anyone of this inner turmoil of his. He had always bore his burdens alone. And he wasn't good at throwing on facades; he was a highly emotional person. If he said he was here to discuss the case, it wouldn't take Yin long to realize that wasn't it at all.

But he had come all the way over here. Did he really want to turn around and leave and go back to his office and wait for more news on the Catherine front? He was so upset right now that he would just be restless and pacing and highly impatient.

He really didn't want to talk, though.

The door cracking open sent him jumping a mile. "Riddler?" Yin was peering out through a small slit, the door still held in check by the two chains she used. "I thought I heard someone out here. What do you want?"

He stiffened, imagining that even with the mask, he looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "I . . . I don't know," he confessed.

She quirked an eyebrow. "You're on my Welcome mat at nine in the morning and you don't know why?"

He sighed, heavily. "I . . . decided to be there when Julie was released from the hospital today," he said. "She told me Gorman's asked her to marry him. She'll probably accept. It . . . bothers me more than it really should."

Yin straightened, surprised. Quickly she undid the chains and opened the door. "Come in," she said. "I was just having breakfast. Do you want some?"

Slowly he stepped into the living room. "I'm really too upset to eat."

"Maybe just some hot chocolate then," Yin said, shutting the door behind him.

"Maybe," he said. Then, fully focusing on what she had just offered, he blinked in surprise. "You have hot chocolate for breakfast?"

Yin smirked. "What can I say? Sometimes I'm not conventional either."

It was pleasant sharing the breakfast table with Yin, moreso than he had thought it would be. She didn't pry, sensing he didn't really want to talk about Julie, and he sipped the hot chocolate quietly, eventually calming down enough to have a Hot Pocket.

"You know, it's strange," he mused at last. "Everyone calls me something different. Julie calls me 'Edward'. She was never much for nicknames. Gorman calls me 'Eddie'. It's a false attempt to look friendly by being familiar. My uncle called me 'Ed'. With Batman, now that he knows my identity, it's always 'Nygma'. You call me 'Riddler'. My father called me 'Champ', in a sarcastic sort of way. My mother . . ." He trailed off. "Well, I don't remember _what_ she called me. Some silly term of endearment, I suppose."

"What do you want to be called?" Yin asked.

He leaned back, thinking. "I suppose 'Riddler' fits me the best. I know I'm using the Nashton alias again and trying to work more legitimately, but I don't think I'll ever get away from my identity as the Riddler. I don't know that I even want to. I suppose that's really why I've kept the makeup and the mask. As the Riddler, I have power and control that I never had before. Edward Nygma is a weakling who was beaten by his father and betrayed by his love." Bitterness slipped into his voice.

Yin stared at him in shock. "Your father _beat_ you? Why?"

An ironic smirk stretched across his features. "He was jealous that I did so well in school when he never did. He thought I must have cheated. So he beat me."

"Badly?" From Yin's expression, she was sickened.

"That coma I was in earlier this year wasn't my first experience with such," he said darkly. "He beat me unconscious. I ended up living with my uncle for a while, after I recovered. Then I was put back with my father, who claimed he was sorry and had cleaned up his act. He never touched me again, but he didn't make much of an effort to be a real father and I didn't trust him. It was a relief when I was old enough to move out."

"I can imagine," Yin shuddered. "Is he still alive?"

"Yes. I don't have any contact with him, but I stay aware of where he is. He pretty much bums around the bad part of Gotham, drinking and watching sports."

"I'm sorry," Yin said. "I've seen a lot of abused and neglected children on the job. It always makes me angry to see someone who won't even try to raise their children decently.

"Does he know what's become of you?"

"I certainly never went out of my way to tell him I'm the Riddler," he replied. "And even though Julie had no trouble recognizing me, he's always so drunk I doubt he'd recognize my mother if she came back from the dead and stood right beside him. As far as I know, he stopped being aware of what happened to me when the university let me go. He didn't even come to see me when I was leaving. My uncle did, and he advised me not to even try to go home. He was afraid my father would beat me again if I did. It wouldn't have surprised me, so I took my uncle's advice and stayed away. I haven't been back since."

"After you were arrested, it seems they would have contacted your father," Yin said.

"Oh, they tried," he said. "They couldn't find him."

"But you did," Yin finished.

"I did. I wouldn't be surprised if he heard about the arrest and stayed away on purpose because he didn't want to be involved."

"That's terrible," Yin said.

"But typical." He shrugged. "I was perfectly alright with him not showing up. Being arrested and sentenced to Arkham was miserable enough without him coming around to shame me."

"That's understandable," Yin said.

"You know, I've been talking all this time about myself," the Riddler remarked. "What's your family like? More normal, I hope?"

"Yeah," Yin said. "I had a pretty peaceful childhood. My parents are back in Metropolis. That's where I grew up and where I joined the police department. I transferred here because of the 'Who is The Batman' mystery and then one thing and another happened and I stayed."

"You must have decided you liked it here."

A shrug. "It was interesting. And I'd made friends and responsibilities here. . . . I didn't want to just drop them."

"No, I can't picture you doing that," he acknowledged.

She paused. "You know, I don't see any reason why you have to give up being Edward Nygma. Or the Riddler, for that matter. Just changing your name won't make you a better person. Changing _you_ will make you a better person. I think you're off to a good start by changing your career. The Riddler doesn't have to be a bad guy. And Edward Nygma doesn't have to be a weakling. I don't think you are."

"A bad guy or a weakling?"

Yin hesitated. "Both," she finally said.

"I have the feeling you're not quite sure about the first," the Riddler said.

"I'm going to have the faith that you're not," Yin said. "I don't think you'd do the good things you've done if you're bad."

He leaned back, considering her words. "Maybe you're right," he mused. "Most people have recognized me at the office and have hired me anyway. Actually, some of them seem to think they'll get better service knowing that I'm the Riddler." He smirked.

"And I suppose they do," Yin said.

"Exceptional service," the Riddler smiled.

By now they were finishing up at the table. The telephone suddenly chose that moment to ring. "That might be Chief Rojas," Yin sighed as she got up.

"Asking if you're harboring a fugitive?" he said dryly.

"Knowing him, it's possible." Yin picked up the phone. "Hello?"

Her brow soon furrowed as she talked. She reached for a pad of paper, scrawling something out on it, and hung up.

"What is it?" the Riddler asked, wandering back into the living room.

Yin was frowning at the notepad. "Crossword sent us the next clue," she said. "He said that since the previous puzzle piece had been 'mis-solved' last night, he would re-set the clock and we'll have twenty-four hours starting now to submit an answer for this one."

He came around to look. "_45 Down: Catherine Blank a Mystery,_" he read.

"A five-letter word," Yin announced. "_Loves_?"

"Do you really think she loves a mystery right now?" the Riddler retorted.

"Well, the other logical option would be _Hates,_ which I guess would make more sense," Yin said. "But _Catherine Hates a Mystery_? What does that statement have to do with anything?" She threw the pad down in exasperation. "It's so random, so obvious."

"If this person is more than a rank amateur, he's aware that the most obvious answer to a riddle is rarely the correct one," the Riddler said.

"And that means we have to look for some hidden meaning," Yin said. "But what could be hidden in a sentence like that?"

The Riddler picked up the pad, studying the strange message. "I'll start working on it," he said.

Yin pulled out the communicator Batman had given her. "I'm going to call Batman and get him working on this too," she said.

"Yes, do," the Riddler said, his eyes starting to gleam. "Let's see which of us can solve it first."

Yin sighed and shook her head.

xxxx

Batman was not in a good mood when he took Yin's call. He had been going through the bad neighborhoods of Gotham, asking if anyone knew where Catherine Mitchell had grown up and showing her picture, all to no avail. Either the people didn't know or they were hiding something. And both options left him with very few choices.

It seemed highly possible by now that she could be using a stage name, since there hadn't been many official records under her current name. But that meant her real name could be almost anything.

Yin's news didn't leave him in much of a better mood. "_Catherine Hates a Mystery_?" he repeated in disbelief.

"Or _Loves_; we thought _Hates_ would make more sense," Yin said. "But what could be the real meaning behind it?"

"I don't know," Batman frowned.

"And Rojas is impatient," Yin said. "He wants us to get an answer in as soon as possible so it can go in the afternoon paper."

Batman paused, thinking. "It doesn't seem like there would be many other phrases that would fit a five-letter blank in that sentence," he said. "But don't send it in until you hear from me again. I'm going to run this riddle past Catherine and see if she has any idea what it means."

"I hope she will," Yin said fervently.

But on the matter of Catherine's thoughts, Batman would not have any immediate luck. When he arrived at her new hotel room, it was empty.

"What happened to the girl in room 10A?" he demanded of the desk clerk moments later.

The man jumped a mile to see The Batman looming in front of his desk. "Why, she . . . she said she was going out for a little while," he said.

"Did she say where?"

"No, not a word. Just that she'd be back before nightfall. Oh, and she was wearing some get-up. She looked like a 1920s socialite or something."

_The theatre,_ Batman realized. "Thanks," he said aloud, and just as swiftly as he had appeared, he was gone again.

xxxx

The director of _Foggy Nights of Gotham_ jumped a mile when The Batman entered the old auditorium. "What the . . . who are you, Buddy?" he exclaimed. "This play doesn't call for any Batmen. It's a little before his time."

"I'm not here to rehearse," Batman retorted. "I need to talk to Catherine Mitchell."

"What about?" Catherine, clad in an off-white dress suit and wide-brimmed matching hat, stepped forward.

"We have our next puzzle piece," Batman told her. "Does the phrase _Catherine Blank a Mystery_ mean anything to you?"

"What?" Catherine laughed. "I think this Crossword character is losing more screws by the hour. I don't have anything to do with mysteries. I barely have some kind of opinion on them at all."

"We were thinking of trying either _Catherine Loves a Mystery_ or _Catherine Hates a Mystery_, the hate of course stemming from this mystery we've all been plunged into right now," Batman said.

"Knock yourself out," Catherine said. "I can't think of anything else it could mean."

"You're sure," Batman frowned.

"I'm sure."

"It could be _Catherine Knows a Mystery_," Batman suggested.

"If I know one, I don't know I know it," Catherine replied. "I guess that could fit, though, couldn't it? With why someone wants me dead, I mean."

"That's what we've been thinking."

"Maybe you should try that one, then."

"One more thing," Batman interjected. "I've been trying to find your old neighborhood to see if I could turn up any enemies of yours there. The problem is, I can't find your old neighborhood."

"Really? That's weird." Catherine shrugged. "I wonder if I'm such an embarrassment that people are pretending they don't know me."

"Where is your neighborhood?" Batman asked.

"It's not too far from here, actually," Catherine said. "It's over near the Bay. You know, where the actual closed-down theatre is?"

"I know," Batman said.

The director cleared his throat.

Catherine regarded Batman impatiently. "Now, if you don't mind, I have to get back to this scene."

"Do what you want." With that, Batman turned and leaped off the stage, while cast and crew alike stared after him.

Five minutes later he had told Yin to send the _Knows _answer in to the newspaper. They could only pray it was the right one.

xxxx

It was sunset before anything else of significance happened on the case. Batman—who had been joined by Robin and Batgirl after school—was just finishing a sweep of Catherine's real neighborhood, strangely still without any success.

"It's odd, Alfred," he said into the communicator. "It's like Catherine Mitchell never existed in this area at all, even though she said it's the one. Even if she was using a different name, her picture should have been recognized."

"That is odd," Alfred agreed. "I wonder if . . ."

But the Batwave went off, interrupting whatever the loyal Wayne family butler had been about to say.

"Oh my," Alfred exclaimed instead. "There's a disturbance at Wayne Industries! It seems a madman in black-and-white checked tights is prancing across the roof."

Batman stiffened. "That could be Crossword," he said. "I'm on my way."

The police and Wayne Industries' security guards had already started to gather by the time Batman drove up and got out of the Batmobile. He went over to where Yin and the Riddler were staring up at the roof.

"You gave the wrong answer again, Gotham P.D.!" the newcomer was howling down at everyone, via the help of a megaphone. "But instead of blowing up a building right now, I'll give you a little reprieve out of necessity. I'm giving you the next puzzle piece in person so you'll have it faster!"

"No more puzzle pieces!" Rojas yelled into his speaker. "This madness ends here."

Ignoring him, Crossword flung a small square over the edge of the building. "Catch!"

"That could be a bomb!" Rojas yelled. "Everyone move!"

Batman didn't believe it. Sending up a Batrope, he lassoed the object and pulled it down. "It's a Rubix cube," he announced as he caught it.

Yin stared at it. "_This _is our next puzzle piece?"

The cube suddenly popped open. The Riddler grabbed the piece of paper that soared out of it. "No," he said. "_This_ is our next puzzle piece. _47 Across: Where is Catherine?_"

"The one we were expecting," Batman frowned.

"And yet it seems as though the Puzzlemaster has some idea of the answer. He's allotted fifteen spaces for it." The Riddler looked up at him. "What is it you've been trying to do?" he demanded. "Are you hoping to deliberately implicate me in your madness?"

Crossword leaned over the railing, gripping it with one hand. "You have a lot of enemies in this city, but I'm not one of them," he called.

"Then why did you set off a bomb in Gorman's company building?!" the Riddler shouted back.

Crossword disappeared from the railing, ducking down as he presumably went across the roof.

"I'm going up there," Batman declared.

"Wait," Yin implored. But it was in vain; Batman had already shot up the Bathook and was starting to climb up the side of the building.

Within moments he was at the top. "Crossword!" he called. "Where are you?"

Then he saw. Crossword was sprawled on the roof, not moving. Blood was pooling underneath his lifeless body.

Batman gasped in shock. How had this happened? He rushed over and knelt down, feeling for a pulse. "Alfred, call an ambulance," he said into the communicator. "Crossword's been shot."

"What? How?" Alfred said in disbelief. "An overzealous policeman?"

"No. Someone must have used a sniper rifle with a silencer." Batman looked up, studying the other nearby tall buildings—more corporate offices and several high-rise hotels and apartment complexes. No one was in sight.

"Who on Earth could have done that? Wasn't Crossword the only villain here?"

"That was what I thought," Batman said. "What we all thought. Obviously we were wrong."

And that fact made everything far more concerning than before.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Gorman was confused when Julie sent him an urgent telephone call, only saying that she had to talk to him right then. And when he drove out to her apartment and found her frantically pacing, he was all the more confused.

"What is this?" he exclaimed as she let him in and returned to pacing. "You're not a nervous person. You're the kind of person who knows what she wants and goes out to get it."

"Yes, but things have gotten bad," Julie said. "Haven't you seen the news? That psychopath who was delivering the crossword pieces to the police was shot less than thirty minutes ago!"

"What?!" Gorman hurried over to the television, which was on but muted. The closed captioning across the bottom of the screen announced that police were baffled by the mysterious shooting.

"I know we were still planning to use Edward's database idea, which we both know is a rotten thing to do, but this is attempted murder," Julie said. "What if it looks like we tried to do this to make him look guilty?!"

"There's no way anyone would connect this with us," Gorman frowned. "I didn't have anything to do with it."

"And I didn't, either!" Julie exclaimed. "But I know who really was behind the bomb in your office. It wasn't the guy who got shot."

Gorman stiffened. "Who, then?!"

"Last night I had a phone call." Julie quickly told him of the caller's identity and motives. But instead of reacting in horror, Gorman just laughed.

"Oh really? Isn't that ironic. I'll plan to sue over what happened to my office, but as far as putting the blame on Eddie, I like that style. And if everything goes as planned, it sounds like he'll be dead tonight."

Julie clenched a fist. "I don't know what to do," she exclaimed. "I can't see myself turning my cousin in to the police. But can I really just let Edward be killed, especially when he didn't even do anything wrong this time? I mean, last night I was just going to let it happen, but after seeing him today, and now this on the news, I don't know."

"Why not?" Gorman retorted. "It solves a problem for us, doesn't it?"

Julie rocked back, staring at him in shock. "But . . ."

"Hey, I tried to kill him myself, you know," Gorman said. "When he rigged my ship to blow up all of the Bio Discs, I just made sure the bombs'd go off while he and that Batman freak were still onboard."

"No," Julie said quietly. "I didn't know."

"Well, don't pull this high and mighty act with me," Gorman growled. "You aren't some naïve, innocent girl."

"I know I've done wrong by him," Julie said. "But I never tried to actually kill him."

"You ruined his life. On purpose. Some people would say that's worse."

"And maybe it is. But I still don't like just standing by while someone else kills him, when I know exactly what they're going to do! Especially now that someone is already almost dead."

"They can only kill you once. If that guy dies, and your cousin kills Eddie too, there won't be any more Hell to pay for two people than one."

"And we'll both be accessories because we knew about it!" Julie cried. "If nothing else matters to you, think about that!"

"I'm not an accessory at all," Gorman insisted. "Unless you tell about this little conversation. And I'll deny every word."

"So you're just going to leave me to decide what to do?!" Julie burst out.

"If you need to decide. To me, the answer is obvious." Gorman turned to the door. "Eddie's a problem. Your cousin can fix that problem."

"Gorman!" Julie wailed in despair.

He paused. "Oh, and if you're having so much trouble deciding what to do right now, maybe that little proposal I made the other day really isn't the best thing for either one of us."

Julie looked down. "Maybe it isn't."

Gorman opened the door and departed, leaving Julie standing alone in the room with a muted TV and a conscience in turmoil.

She really knew what the right thing to do was.

But would she do it?

_Could_ she?

xxxx

No one was very pleased as the ambulance drove away with Crossword in critical condition. His mask had been removed, but it did not help; none of them recognized him. But Batman snapped a quick picture anyway and sent it off to the Batcave for Alfred to try to find a match to. Then, deciding they needed to sit down somewhere and discuss the bizarre case in detail in the hopes of finding something they had overlooked, the Riddler directed Batman and Yin back to his office.

"None of this makes much sense," the Riddler growled as Batman drove them in the Batmobile.

"Did it ever?" Batman returned.

"What are we going to do?" Yin worried. "Crossword was our only hope of finding out what's going on. Now we find out he wasn't even the big cheese."

"Was he shot by someone higher up?" the Riddler mused. "Or was he never the enemy to begin with?"

Batman nearly threw on the brakes. "What?"

"Well, it was just a random thought," the Riddler shrugged. "I suppose it doesn't make much sense; when he appeared, he certainly gave every indication that he was the one behind everything."

Yin leaned forward, resting her arms against the front seats. "And what was the deal with that _Catherine Blank a Mystery_ piece?" she frowned. "We tried _Knows_ and Crossword said that wasn't it."

"Which brings us back to _Loves _or _Hates_," Batman said. "Unless either of you can think of another five-letter word that would fit." He pulled up in front of the office.

The Riddler undid the seatbelt and climbed out, using his cane for support. Two men passing by on the sidewalk glanced over. "Hey, Riddler," one of them greeted.

"Hello, boys," the Riddler smiled, clearly enjoying the recognition.

Yin got out too, watching the duo casually stroll up the street. "You were right about people knowing you," she commented.

"I do have quite a distinctive look, wouldn't you say?" Draping the cane over his shoulders, the Riddler headed for the door.

Yin shook her head as she followed.

The creaking of the hanging sign made her look up with a start. "You really ought to fix that," she said.

"I know." He regarded the noisy object in distaste. "Maybe when I do, I'll change the name on it. Edward Nygma instead of Nashton. I don't know why I used that alias again anyway. It was what I actually used at the university. If anyone recognized that name, they would associate it with the inventor whose Bio Discs malfunctioned and injured the president of the university. I guess a few weeks ago, that didn't seem any worse than associating Nygma as the man behind the Riddler, but now . . ."

Batman, who was coming up behind them, suddenly froze. "Nygma," he repeated.

"What," the Riddler grunted.

"No, I'm not addressing you," Batman said impatiently. "I'm realizing something. Your name—is that really your family name?"

The Riddler turned around, amused. "You think that's too strange, eh, Batman? I found it rather entertaining myself. Especially since my first name can be abbreviated and you end up with E. Nygma!"

"Exactly," Batman retorted. "An enigma, a synonym for mystery."

"Whoa, wait a sec," Yin stared. "Mystery? You're not trying to say . . ."

"That _Catherine Blank a Mystery_ could really be saying _Catherine Hates an Enigma_, as in Edward Nygma? Maybe not, but at least that would start getting us someplace."

"But why, Batman? What Earthly reason could Catherine have to hate me?" The Riddler placed his hand on the electronic door key and let it scan. "Why, she didn't even recognize me as being the Riddler when she came to see me."

"And she acted as though she'd only heard about you from your fake bomb threats against the city when you made your first official debut," Batman remembered. "That could have been a smokescreen. The same could go for why she wouldn't appear to recognize you."

The Riddler tapped out the security code and the front door finally swung open. "So by this logic, you're saying she's out to get me and decided that the perfect way to go about it was to hire me to find out who was out to kill her."

"Yeah, and what about who was out to kill her?" Yin frowned. She looked to Batman as they trailed after their host. "Obviously Crossword is in this up to his neck."

"But what if we have the truth upsidedown and backwards?" Batman replied. "It was Catherine Mitchell who said that someone was out to kill her. We only have her word on that. What if instead, Crossword was trying to find Catherine to _stop_ a crime instead of to commit one?"

The Riddler went and sat at his desk, lacing his fingers. "Interesting theory, Batman, but what about the bombs?"

"You didn't really have any bombs. Crossword could have taken a page from your book and not had any, either," Batman replied.

"_Someone_ put a bomb in Gorman's office," Yin frowned.

"Maybe Catherine did that, to keep us focused on her version of the story." Batman looked to the Riddler. "Nygma, you have to think. Is there any place you could have met Catherine before?"

"I would have remembered," the Riddler objected. "When she first walked into my office, she looked so much like Julie that . . ." He trailed off. "Oh no!"

"What?" Yin exclaimed. "You're _not_ going to say that Catherine is Julie, in disguise." She folded her arms. "I don't like Julie one bit, but I don't think she'd be behind some large-scale attempt to go after you."

"I don't think so, either," the Riddler said. "But she could be a relation." Quickly he switched on his computer and began typing. Soon he was bringing up records.

Yin peered at the monitor. "Is that legal?"

"Do you really care right now?" the Riddler retorted. "I don't. Not that I would anyway."

Yin sighed in exasperation. "Riddler . . ." But she trailed off, shaking her head. "Nevermind."

"This idea of Catherine being related to Julie could explain why we haven't found any trace of her old neighborhood all day," Batman scowled. "Robin and Batgirl are still out there trying, but I bet they won't have any luck. She's probably not from the bad part of Gotham at all."

"But this idea still doesn't make sense," Yin objected, looking to the Riddler. "Julie wronged you, not the other way around. What would Catherine have against you?"

"She could be upset that I went after Julie when I learned the truth?" the Riddler suggested.

"That's good enough for now," Batman said. "Are you finding anything?"

"Not anyone named Catherine," the Riddler replied. "But look at this!" He turned the monitor to face the others. "This cousin of Julie's, Denise Claymore. With a little less makeup and a different hair style, she would look a great deal like Catherine."

"What?!" Batman stared in disbelief at the screen. "Catherine told me that Denise Claymore has the female lead in _Foggy Nights of Gotham_! I tried to drop by her house, but the maid insisted she wasn't there."

"So Catherine is Denise and Catherine Mitchell doesn't really exist?" Yin frowned. "I don't know. To pull something like this off, wouldn't the entire theatre company have to be involved?"

"Some of them, anyway," Batman said. "Catherine said her character was the younger sister of the female lead. She also said Amy Sands' character just had one scene."

The Riddler considered that for a brief moment. "If Denise Claymore was really pretending to be Catherine Mitchell and not everyone knew it, Amy Sands may have known. She may have even played Catherine for scenes where both Catherine and Denise were needed."

"But maybe she decided that what she knew was too juicy to keep quiet," Yin said, warming to the discussion. "She could have started to blackmail Denise, or threatened to, and Denise decided she had to go."

"Catherine said that they've been rehearsing scenes where she wasn't needed," Batman said, "but that soon she would be. She was rehearsing one tonight. Maybe she'd hoped that by this time she would have another young actress groomed to take Amy Sands' place."

"That's _if_ any of this crazy theory is true," Yin said. "We need proof!"

"There's one person still alive who might know." The Riddler's voice was dark as he pushed away from the desk and stood, taking his cane.

"If Julie knows, I doubt she'll be willing to tell you," Batman warned. "She could even be an accomplice."

"That's possible," Yin worried. "I can't see her coming up with something like this by herself, but if someone else was pulling the strings, she might get involved."

"That's all the more reason I have to know." Without warning the Riddler ran for the back wall, pressing a button on his cane as he went. It swung open just enough for him to slip through and then clicked shut behind him. "Sorry, Batman and Yinsey," he said over a loudspeaker. "This is my fight. I have to go at it alone."

Yin ran at the wall. "Riddler!" she yelled, banging on it with her fist. "You can't go alone. You could be killed! You wouldn't get a miracle a second time, especially if you do something stupid!"

Batman was making his way to the desk. Remembering the large stone paperweight, he turned it 90 degrees to the right. It clicked, and the wall swung open again.

Yin whirled, looking over her shoulder. "How did you know to do that?"

"Another riddle he couldn't resist leaving." Batman glided past her and into the room. As expected, it was wall-to-wall computers and consoles. A cot was on one side of the room, a refrigerator and couch on the other.

"Riddler _lives_ in here?" Yin gaped at the room in disbelief.

"He may not live here again if we don't find him," Batman said. "He's already gone out a back exit."

"He told me Julie was released from the hospital," Yin remembered. "She's probably back at her apartment. Or at the university."

"Or with Gorman," Batman said. "They're probably anxious to get back to putting the finishing touches on that second idea they stole from Nygma."

"We'll have to check everywhere," Yin said. "Riddler could be trying any one of those places." She pushed back a wave of fear and panic. This was starting to play out just like the Friday Night Killer case. Julie had been shot, the Riddler had realized he had been the main target all along, and he had run towards his doom to confront the Chessmaster. Now he was running again. And Yin refused to let this case end the same as the other one.

"I'll put Robin and Batgirl on it," Batman said. "That will cut down on the time it will take us to travel to those places. And we still need to figure out that last puzzle piece, too."

Yin opened her mouth to retort, but then thought better of it. "_Where is Catherine,_" she remembered. "It could tell us where she's planning to kill him!"

"Start thinking of fifteen-letter words," Batman directed as he pulled out his communicator to call Robin.

"That's easier said than done," Yin muttered. She took out a notepad and began to scrawl out the names of important buildings and areas in the city. Then for each, she counted up the number of letters. "Arkham Asylum is twelve, so that's not it," she mused. "GothCorp is eight, and they're mostly bankrupt after the Firefly scandal anyway." Then her eyes widened. "Batman! Wayne Industries is fifteen letters!"

Batman tore away from the communicator with a start. "Of course," he realized. "The answer was staring us in the face. It wasn't just a random thing for Crossword to be on the roof of the Wayne Industries building. That in itself was him trying to let us know the answer to the puzzle piece he gave us!"

"Uh . . . hello?" Robin called through the communicator.

"Robin, get Batgirl and go to Wayne Industries," Batman ordered. "That's where everything is going to happen."

"Okay," Robin said slowly. "But how will anyone get in there again? Security's tightening up after that guy was on the roof."

"Anyone who could create as cunning and cruel a plot as this will have a way to get in again," Batman said darkly. "If we're right, then we're after an actress. She could pretend to be a security guard or another type of staff member. Watch yourself, Robin. She's likely to be very dangerous."

Yin was already running for the door, calling into her phone for police to go out to Wayne Industries ahead of her.

In her heart, she was praying that she was wrong about there not being any more miracles for Edward Nygma.

xxxx

The knock at the door made Julie jump a mile. "Who's there?" she snapped after a moment.

A key slipped into the lock and the knob turned. "Oh, come on, Julie, that's no way to talk to your cousin." The woman who had been calling herself Catherine Mitchell stepped into the room. "Especially when I'm so close to finally avenging you."

"Denise, I told you there's no need to avenge me!" Julie cried. "Edward was trying to protect me when I was shot. He didn't have anything to do with it happening!"

"He's a liar," Denise said darkly. "He could have stopped it and he purposely didn't."

"Then why did he go after that psychopath after I was shot?" Julie retorted.

"That should be an easy one," Denise rolled her eyes. "He just didn't want to be used as a patsy."

Julie turned away. "No. He still cared about me. He still cares now. He's disturbed and psycho in his own way, but even after everything, I mean something to him."

"Please." Denise shut the door after her. "He wants to kill you as much as I want to kill him."

"No!" Julie spun around to face the other woman. "That isn't true. And Denise, you're already in big trouble. Didn't you shoot that guy on the roof?"

"I shot him down right from my hotel room, with a high-powered rifle." Denise sounded and looked proud of it. "This city is filled with screwballs, you know? He could have just called the police and told everything he knew. Instead he had to make it a game, just like the Riddler does. I guess he figured the police would be more likely to take him seriously that way."

"If he dies, you've already committed premeditated murder!" Julie exclaimed. "Do you think that's what I want?"

"It's not like you'll turn me in," Denise retorted. "You don't want me to be locked up. I'm more important to you than any of these puzzle-loving nuts."

"And that's why I don't want you to go through with this!" Julie pleaded. "Do you think I want to see you acting like this?"

"I'm being protective of my cousin, like I should be." Denise glanced at the clock. "And if they've figured out that last puzzle piece, Edward Nygma should be at Wayne Industries right now."

"Don't you think it would be more fitting to murder him at the university?" Julie said, half-sarcastically.

"But Wayne Industries is one of the tallest buildings in town, and certainly the most famous." Denise spread her arms. "How fitting to send an enemy to his death by falling off of it."

Julie shrank back, her eyes wide and sickened. There was no reasoning with her cousin. And there was no way to back out of this now, with her right there. Maybe once she left, Julie could call for help. Obviously Denise needed it. And Julie did not want to risk her cousin getting killed in the battle at Wayne Industries.

"You should come watch, Julie," Denise said suddenly.

Julie flinched. "What?"

"I mean, how can I properly kill someone for your sake if you're not even there to see it?" Denise grabbed her arm. "Let's go, right now."

Julie tried to pull away. "I really don't want to see it!"

The sudden knock at the door made them both jump. "Are you expecting anyone?" Denise asked.

"No," Julie said honestly. It could be Gorman, she decided. Maybe he was coming back to check on her again or to try to convince her to let Denise do what she wanted. Julie really didn't want those two to meet, not with Gorman's mindset.

"Well?" Denise said when the knocking came again, more frantically this time. "Aren't you going to answer it?"

"I don't know," Julie frowned. Louder, she called, "I'm busy. Who's there?"

"Oh, surely you suspect, Julie," came Edward's dark and angry voice.

Julie blanched. "It's Edward!" she hissed to Denise, whose eyes went wild.

"This is perfect!" Denise exclaimed. "You can convince him to go with you to Wayne Industries. I'll slip out the fire escape and go on ahead to wait there."

"Denise! I don't want to be an accessory to murder!" Julie exclaimed.

"Only you and I will know," Denise said smoothly. "And I won't talk. Get him out there." With that, she slipped into the bedroom.

Not knowing if Denise really would leave or if she would stay and listen, Julie drew a shaking breath and went to the door. She would have to try to get Edward to go away, while somehow warning him of the danger.

"You know, I can break the door down if I choose," Edward said. "I have some of my Riddlemen with me."

Julie sighed. Of course—Edward was rarely far from his loyal helpers. Surely they could assist in protecting him; as far as she knew, Denise wasn't working with anyone.

"Don't do that, Edward," she said. "I'd sue. Anyway, I'm opening the door." She unlocked it and opened it a crack. "What do you want?"

"To have a little talk, but not out here in the hall." Edward glowered at her from behind the mask. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Julie looked and felt trapped. "Edward, I can't," she said.

"Why not? Is Gorman in there?" Edward said dryly. "Or your cousin Denise, perhaps."

Julie hadn't thought she could turn any paler. But if it was physically possible, Edward's comment had likely enabled it to be achieved. "You know about Denise?" she gasped.

"Let's just say I suspected," he coolly replied. "And now you're confirming my suspicions." He stepped closer to her. "She _is_ out to kill me, isn't she?"

"She's sick, Edward," Julie protested. "She needs help."

"Oh? Aren't you going to simply brand her a psychopath and bounce her out of your life too?" Suddenly he grabbed her by her upper arms. His cane clattered against the half-open door. "Or are you working with her?!"

"No!" Julie cried. "No, I'm not!"

"Do you think I can even believe you at this point?!" Edward's voice raised in volume. Several curious or annoyed people started to open their doors to see what was going on.

"There's really no reason why you should," Julie sighed quietly. "But I've never tried to kill you. And I didn't want to let you in because Denise wanted me to convince you to go to the place where she's planning to kill you. I didn't know if she might still be in the bedroom listening."

"And where is she planning her little murder?" Edward demanded.

Julie hesitated. "Gotham University."

He frowned. "You're sure of that?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Yes. She's going to push you out of the laboratory window."

He scoffed. "I'm not that weak. She'll find it a lot harder to get rid of me than she thinks." Letting go of her, he grabbed his cane and turned to leave.

"Edward." Julie took a step forward. "I guess it's useless to ask you not to go."

"Quite useless. If she's after me, then I'll face her and I'll bring her down."

Julie clenched a fist. "I don't want her dead."

"I don't know why I should oblige you, or why you should expect I would, but I don't intend to kill her. That doesn't mean, however, that it will be avoidable." He paused, his voice quieting. "But if you really don't want _me_ dead either, you're different than Gorman."

She looked down. "Maybe not any better, really, but different," she said. "I don't know if I'll accept his proposal."

"I wish you wouldn't." He still wasn't facing her.

"Why, Edward?" Julie couldn't help asking. "You don't really think we could ever . . ."

"No," Edward answered immediately. "Not anymore." He finally turned back. "But I still don't like the thought of you being married to _him. _Anyone but Gorman!"

"I'm starting to not like the thought myself," Julie admitted.

Edward sighed, in tired resignation. "Well, nevermind all that now," he said. "Goodbye, Julie." He started off down the hall, flanked by his silent Riddlemen.

Julie sighed too, her shoulders slumping as she went back inside and closed the door. "Why do I feel like this is the last time I'll ever see you, Edward?" she said under her breath. Then again, she had felt like that after she had seen to it that he was discredited at the university, and look how many times she had seen him since then.

"You'll be seeing him again."

She jumped a mile at the sound of her cousin's voice. "Denise," she choked out. "I thought you'd left already."

"I had to stick around to hear your performance," Denise replied. She was coming out from the bedroom, her eyes narrowed and flashing with anger. "And wasn't I surprised! You sided with him, even after everything he's done to you!"

Julie backed up, honestly afraid. "I've done more to him," she said. "And this isn't just for his sake. I can't let you kill somebody!"

"Well, aren't you noble." Suddenly Denise grabbed her, lost in her fury and hurt and imagined betrayal. "Like I said, you'll definitely see him again. If he comes, that is."

Julie struggled against her, but in vain. She was still weakened from the trauma the bullets had caused, while Denise was in perfect health. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"We're both going to Wayne Industries after all," Denise said. "And I'm going to call Edward and tell him my real location, and that if he wants to save you, he'll have to come give himself up in your place."

Julie went sheet-white. "No!" she cried. "Denise, we're cousins! And you were doing all this because of me. You wouldn't really put me in danger!"

"And Edward was sweet on you and look what you did to him. And what he tried to do you when he found out." Denise pulled a cloth soaked in chloroform out of her pocket, forcing it over Julie's nose and mouth.

In spite of Julie's best efforts, she couldn't hold her breath indefinitely. With a choking gasp, she finally breathed in the drug and slumped into Denise's arms with a quiet moan.

"That was easy enough," Denise muttered. "But I'm sorry I had to do it, Julie."

The sudden knocking at the door brought her attention sharply up. "What's going on in there?" one of the other tenants called. "Hello?"

Denise's lip curled. They wouldn't be able to go out that way.

"Nothing to worry about," she called back in Julie's voice. "I just had the TV on too loud. I'm sorry."

"Are you sure?" the man called back. Persistent, wasn't he? "I saw that nut bothering you a few minutes ago."

"He's gone now," Denise replied. "I'm alone."

Silence. "Well, if you say so. I just hope I don't find out later that you were lying because he threatened you."

"It's nothing like that," Denise said. "I promise. But thank you for your concern."

"Okay. Let me know if he comes around again."

"If he does, I can handle it."

Denise waited impatiently until she heard footsteps going back up the corridor. She still wouldn't dare leave by the front door.

"I'll see you dead yet, Edward," she said darkly. "And Julie, you'll see that it's all for your best good."

She started to drag the unconscious girl towards the fire escape.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Batman gripped the steering wheel of the Batmobile as he sped through the streets. He had chosen to see if Julie was with Gorman, which had not been pleasant in the least. Gorman had been his usual uncooperative self and had sneered at Batman's desire to save Edward Nygma from whatever fate was planned for him.

"_Why not just let him die?"_ Gorman had shrugged. _"It'd save you a lot of headaches."_

"_It would give me even more,"_ Batman had replied, darkly, before leaving Gorman's office the way he had come—through the window.

"Alfred, have you had any luck on tracing that picture of Crossword unmasked?" he asked over the communicator.

"I'm afraid not, Sir," Alfred sighed. "And the fingerprint check the police were running has also come up mysteriously clean."

"So he doesn't have a criminal record," Batman mused. "And he's someone close enough to Catherine—or Denise, if our latest theory is right—that he knew all about her plans."

"If the young lady actually is the madwoman behind this dastardly scheme," Alfred said. "It's such a wild theory, Master Bruce."

"I know, but it makes so much sense." Batman's eyes narrowed. "Any news on what's happening at Wayne Industries?"

"The police are arriving now, I believe," Alfred said, "but they haven't seen any suspicious activity. How on earth do you suppose Catherine will climb to the roof without being seen?"

"If there's any new security guard or other employee, it's probably her," Batman said. "Or she might pretend to be one that already works there."

"The police aren't letting anyone in or out," Alfred said. "She'll have a bear of a time no matter what she does."

"The police are going in and out, aren't they?" Batman replied. "That means she could be a policewoman."

"Good heavens," Alfred exclaimed.

"Try to get in touch with Detective Yin," Batman directed. "She was going there. Tell her the policewoman idea."

"And what will you be doing, Master Bruce?"

"Also trying to get in touch with Detective Yin. She isn't answering her communicator. I'll contact Commissioner Gordon too. And I'm not too far from Gotham University, so I'll check there."

"Do you suspect foul play where Detective Yin is concerned?"

"At this point, I'm sure not ruling it out."

"And Edward Nygma?"

Batman fell silent. "Right now, I can only hope he's still alive."

xxxx

Yin, meanwhile, had taken off running in her and Batman's plan to separate and check assorted specific areas around the city for the Riddler and Julie. She hadn't gone very far in her quest to find either a police car or a taxicab when several Riddlemen leaped into her path.

She started, but stood her ground. "Okay, what's with this?" she demanded. "Did Riddler tell you to stop me?"

They regarded her in silence.

"You're not still holding it against me that I beat you up the first time we met, are you?" Yin frowned.

Still silence.

"You know, I'm on Riddler's side in this," Yin said finally, frustrated and angry. "If we don't find him soon, he's going to be dead."

"He went to Gotham University," one of them spoke at last. "He took two of us with him."

Yin stared. "Why there?" Her mind quickly worked out the number of letters. Sixteen. Unless Riddler was highly emotional and not thinking, he would not be going there. He knew Crossword's last puzzle was fifteen letters, even though he hadn't been there when Yin had realized the answer was Wayne Industries.

"The girl Julie told him her cousin was waiting to kill him there," the Riddleman replied. "He went there to face her."

Yin exhaled in frustration. "Of course he did. Look, do you have a way of keeping in touch with him?"

"Sure." Another Riddleman spoke. "He has an intercom speaker in his cane."

Yin sighed. "That figures. Well, contact him and find out where he is!"

The one Riddlewoman pulled out some sort of communication device. "Riddler?" she called. "Sir, where are you?"

Yin folded her arms, thinking how odd it was to hear him being called "Sir."

The speaker crackled. "I'm watching Julie's apartment house."

"What?!" Yin rushed over. "Riddler, this is Detective Yin. Why are you there?"

"Because Julie lied to me." His voice was dark, confused. "She told me her cousin was waiting to kill me at Gotham University. Unless Denise changed her mind, that couldn't be right. There's too many letters."

"She wants to kill you at Wayne Industries," Yin said. She paused and blinked. Had Julie actually been trying to protect the Riddler? Or had her cousin just told her a different plan for whatever reason and Julie had believed it?

The Riddler paused. "Yes, that would make sense, wouldn't it. At least because of the number of letters and the fact that the Puzzlemaster made his scene from there."

"Well, what's going on at Julie's apartment?" Yin asked.

"Nothing at the moment . . . wait." The Riddler came to attention. "Catherine—no, Denise—is coming out on the fire escape. She's . . . holding Julie!"

"What do you mean she's holding Julie?" Yin exclaimed.

"Julie is so limp." Suddenly, anger that Yin had not expected flared in his voice. "She hurt her! Denise hurt her own cousin!"

A chill ran up Yin's spine. "Nice family. But Riddler, don't do anything rash. Do you hear me? Ridd- . . ."

A button was pressed and the communication fizzled out. Yin whirled, looking to the stunned Riddlewoman. "He cut us off. Can you contact the Riddlemen with him?"

"Y-Yes," she blinked. "But I'm sure he'll be okay. There's three of them and one enemy."

"After the last few days, I'm not going to trust that anything is that cut-and-dried," Yin said darkly. "Do whatever you have to, but restore communication with them!" She looked around. "And did anyone bring a car?"

"A van," the Riddlewoman told her.

"Fine. We'll take that and drive to Julie's apartment house while you try to re-establish contact." Spotting the van, Yin immediately headed in that direction.

The Riddler's helpers looked at each other, bowled over and bewildered by Yin's take-charge attitude. Then, shrugging, they trouped to the van as well.

xxxx

The last thing Denise was expecting was for two men in green to suddenly grab her on either side when she reached the bottom of the fire escape. "What the . . . !" She stiffened, but held fast to Julie's limp form. "Get away from me!"

"They only take orders from me," the Riddler said darkly, stepping out of the shadows. "Let her go."

Denise's lip curled in her hatred. "Why? So you can stand back and let her be hurt again?"

The Riddler gripped the cane, his knuckles turning white. "I wasn't the one who hurt her now," he said.

Silently conceding to that truth, Denise gently laid Julie on the grass. "Don't think this is really a victory, Edward Nygma," she said. "I'm a professional actress; I always have an understudy and a back-up plan."

"Are you trying to tell me there's two of you?" The Riddler came closer, sneering at his new enemy. "You've mastered the art of cloning? Why, won't scientists everywhere be overjoyed."

"Laugh all you want," Denise said smugly. "No, there's only one of me. But my understudy on the roof at Wayne Industries requires your company."

The van pulled up at that moment and Yin leaped out, gun drawn. "Police!" she yelled.

The Riddler glanced over. "Not to worry, Yinsey. Everything's under control. Except for this mysterious understudy my _former client_ is babbling about."

Denise sneered now. "I've been planning this for ages. I never believed you were dead after the Chessmaster incident. When I heard about an Edward Nashton operating as a consultant, I was sure it was you. So I went to see and I was right."

"Was that the real reason you looked so shocked when you saw me?" he asked dryly.

"Kind of. Even though I suspected you were alive, it was more startling than I thought to really see you in person. But it was delicious making each move—meeting you for the first time, pretending I was in danger, hiring you to help me. . . . My only regret now is that I won't be around to personally watch you die."

"What are you talking about, Claymore?" Yin snapped. "You're under arrest. And Riddler's not going to Wayne Industries. He won't be meeting your little understudy."

"But he'll have to, if Mr. Wayne doesn't want his precious company building and everyone in it and around it for a full block to blow sky high." Denise grinned broadly, her eyes filled with madness.

"You have a bomb on the roof?!" Yin burst out in horror.

"And trust me, it's a real one, just like the one in Gorman's office. This one's bigger, though. And it has one very important catch." Denise looked to the Riddler. "It can only shut off if _you_ approach it."

"What?" The Riddler clenched his teeth. "I've never heard of such a thing!"

"I managed to get your fingerprints when I went to your office to hire you," Denise bragged. "I programmed them into the bomb. You have to touch a special screen to even get access to the defusing process. Anyone else who tries will be detected and immediately blown up."

"Apparently there's yet another catch, since you're so sure I'll die," the Riddler said.

"I doubt you'll be able to deactivate it," Denise said. "The other catch is that you'll have one minute from the time you gain access to the point of detonation."

"Oh, this is insane!" Yin cried, stepping forward. "He is not going anywhere near that roof. The Bomb Squad will find a way to deactivate it."

"Maybe if they had time," Denise said. "But when they can't so much as touch it without it sensing they aren't Edward Nygma, they can't very well do much, can they? There won't be time to evacuate the building; if Edward Nygma doesn't go there within thirty minutes and try to shut it off, it will go off anyway."

Yin shoved her gun in its holster. "I've heard enough." She walked over, pulling out her handcuffs. "You have the right to remain silent."

The Riddler turned away as Yin recited the Miranda Rights. He glanced down at Julie, who was breathing normally but still unconscious. Then, sighing heavily, he leaned on his cane and stared into the distance.

"So, what kind of a mess have I got myself into this time?" he muttered, casting his gaze to the sky. "I can walk away from this. I don't have to risk my life to save Bruce Wayne's empire and however many innocent bystanders are in the way. If I fail, they'll all die anyway.

"But it's a challenge, directed specifically at me. I don't walk away from challenges."

_Or from a lot of people who probably really will die without you?_

He froze at the imagined voice of his uncle in his mind. "I'm not a hero," he scoffed. "I'm a criminal, a villain. An anti-hero."

"Actually . . ." Yin came up beside him. "Some people have it wrong that an anti-hero is just another name for a villain. An anti-hero is an unconventional protagonist. And I seem to remember you saying you're nothing if not unconventional."

He looked to her. "Do you want me to do this?" he asked.

Pain flashed in her eyes. "No," she said. "We both know there's not much chance of you living through it." She drew out her phone. "I really will call the Bomb Squad. But . . ." She swallowed hard. "I don't think Claymore would be lying about the clause that it has to be you defusing it." She gripped the phone tightly, her own knuckles white.

"And if anyone else approaches it and it really does go off, it will be too late to save anyone." The Riddler sighed again, looking tired. But then he straightened, seeming to accept his fate. "Alright then. Don't call them, Yinsey. I'll do it."

She looked to him with a start. "Riddler . . ."

He smirked. "I'm quite skilled with bombs, actually. Even though I rarely use real ones. I can probably crack this one in far less than a minute."

His smarmy tone caused something inside Yin to break. "Why do you always have to be so arrogant?!" she cried.

"It makes life interesting," he said. "And it's better than sitting around moping about my lot. I was never one for that; I always got up to do something about it."

"Even if what you did about it was more than a little illegal," Yin grumbled. She shoved the phone back in her pocket.

"The clock's ticking, Detective," he said as he sobered. "We'll have to go now." He looked to the two Riddlemen who had restrained Denise. "Look after Julie until she wakes up," he directed.

They looked down. "What about you, Sir?" one of them asked.

"Well . . . I may come back or I may not. If I don't, obviously you'll be free to seek new employment." He walked past them, heading for the van.

Yin hurried to catch up. "Riddler." She grabbed his arm and he froze, stunned. "I've lost people before. It never gets easier. I lost Ethan Bennett to Joker. I thought you were gone. You just came back."

He turned, genuinely moved by her sincerity. "Truthfully, I don't want to do this myself," he said. "I like challenges, but not when even I don't have much chance of staying alive. At least people are unpredictable. A bomb will always go off, if that is what it's programmed to do and no one can deactivate it. Nevertheless, neither of us has much choice in the matter, do we?"

Yin looked down. "No, we don't. Not if you're not okay with letting it go off."

"Then let's just focus on what we have to." He held her gaze for a moment before turning and climbing into the van. "Drive," he ordered the Riddlewoman at the wheel.

Yin swallowed hard and followed him in. Slumping into a seat, she took out her communicator. She scowled as she realized it was turned off. How had that happened? Maybe something important had been happening elsewhere and she was unaware of it because of this.

Quickly she switched it on. "Come in, Batman," she rasped.

The communicator crackled. "Detective Yin?! I've been trying to contact you. Why haven't you been answering?"

"It was turned off," Yin said in annoyance. "I don't know how it happened."

"Well, nevermind that. Where are you?"

"Heading for Wayne Industries," Yin said. "And I've got some real bad news."

xxxx

With the congested traffic around town, it took twenty minutes just to reach Wayne Industries. By that time, Batman, the kids, and the police had all been briefed on Denise's wild story and the Bomb Squad had confirmed there was a strange object on the roof. With Denise's predictions of doom, none of them dared to go near it for fear of setting off the massive explosion.

Batgirl frowned, folding her arms as she and Robin stood back to watch the continued frantic gathering. Red and blue lights flashed and specially trained police dogs were led out of the building.

"This is some big shindig," Robin worried.

"And the whole thing's all about this Riddler guy," Batgirl commented. "Why drag Wayne Industries into the mess?"

"I'd sure like to go to police headquarters and ask Denise about that," Robin said.

Batgirl looked to him. "I wasn't really involved in the whole Friday Night Killer thing. Do you think we can even trust Riddler?"

"I'm not the best person to ask," Robin said. "Batman trusts him more than I do, but I think even he's still kind of leery. Still, he's here, and Detective Yin didn't twist his arm to get him here, so I guess that's something."

"Detective Yin doesn't even want him to have to do this," Batgirl said.

"I guess if she's coming to like him, you can't blame her for that," Robin said. "Batman doesn't want him to have to do it either."

"And we pretty much have to let him go through with it and maybe literally die trying," Batgirl said. "Not good odds."

No one could disagree with that. And there were others uncertain about other aspects of the case, just as Batgirl was.

"I don't like this," Chief Rojas complained, squeezing his ever-present stress ball as he leaned on the roof of his squad car. "The entire city block is in danger of being blown up and we have to trust all our fates to this psychopath!" He jabbed a finger in the Riddler's direction.

"It seems like we can afford to give him a little latitude after the Friday Night Killer case," Commissioner Gordon replied. "I'll admit I was leery of having him help out then. But he didn't let us down. I have no reason to believe he will this time, especially since his life is in danger as well."

"How very astute of you, Commissioner," the Riddler purred. "And we only have eight minutes left. I hope Mr. Wayne's elevator is fast."

"I've been in the building before," Batman said. "The elevator is state-of-the-art. I'll ride up with you."

"What?!" Robin exclaimed, rushing over to his mentor and foster father. "Batman, you can't be up on the roof now!"

Batman looked to him. "It'll be alright, Robin," he said. "I'm going."

"Not without me you're not!" Robin retorted.

"What about me?" Batgirl exclaimed.

"Someone should stay down here and work crowd control," Batman said, not wanting Commissioner Gordon's daughter to get into this kind of immediate danger.

Batgirl just stared. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," Batman said flatly.

Yin came forward, having stayed back to let the two Bats talk. "I'll be there too," she declared. Batman might be able to convince Batgirl to stay back, but he would not have that effect on her. Her presence was non-negotiable.

"Come on!" Batgirl exclaimed. "Why her and not me too?"

Batman just fixed her with a warning stare. "There's no time for this."

Batgirl scowled. "Okay, I'll stay," she grumbled.

The Riddler looked back and forth among them. "You shouldn't get too close," he said, heading for the front doors. "As long as you stay down here, you'll have some hope of survival if I make a mistake."

"No." Yin walked inside with him, completely resolute. "We weren't there when you were fighting the Chessmaster. We were so close, but not close enough to save you."

"And that isn't going to happen again," Batman said. "Not without us doing everything we can to protect you if we need to."

They stepped into the elevator and the Riddler pressed the button for the top floor. "So I'll have three more lives to concern myself with," he said. "If I should fail, all of you will certainly die even if no one else will."

"It's better than it was the other time," Batman said. "Back then, there was no one close enough in your corner to do anything for you."

The elevator stopped at the fifteenth floor and the Riddler got out, hurrying for the door marked Roof. He could hear the others running behind him and it still amazed him. Robin wasn't there specifically for him, but Batman and Yin were. They had been so affected by his prior death that now they were following him into Hellfire, hoping to see to it that this time he would come out alive.

He was really hoping that, too.

The bomb was easy to spot when he emerged onto the roof. He went over, kneeling down and pressing his fingers against the screen. It beeped, activating.

_Subject identified as Edward Nygma. One minute to solve this puzzle._

He wouldn't admit it aloud, but he was beyond nervous as he worked with the complex innards of the weapon. The screen ticked, displaying every second as it passed him by without him reaching a resolution. His audience stood by, far enough away so as not to crowd him but close enough that they hoped to come to his aid if needed.

_:20 left._

He could untangle this. After all, he was the Riddler, Gotham's true Puzzlemaster. Batman himself had acknowledged his skills with inanimate things, even if he wasn't always the greatest at people skills.

Still, this wasn't something that could be turned off by answering a riddle. It was a complex puzzle, one that might take longer than a minute for even him to solve.

And he only had a few seconds.

_:15 left._

He didn't look up, but he knew they were all still there, not even running for cover on the other side of the roof. They didn't want to let him down, or themselves, by failing to save him. He didn't want to fail them. It was a strange feeling, really.

"_An anti-hero is an unconventional protagonist."_

"_The Riddler doesn't have to be a bad guy. And Edward Nygma doesn't have to be a weakling. I don't think you are."_

Maybe he would make it after all. Maybe he would live to go on to whatever life an anti-hero could have.

He really wanted to live. . . .

_:01 left._

The screen went dark and the ticking stopped. He stared at the thing, still cautious, not quite believing it. "I . . . think it's off," he said slowly.

"Let's go," Batman said. "The Bomb Squad can get rid of it."

The Riddler was quite agreeable. He took several steps back, still not sure he believed Denise would let him go so easily.

He was right to be suspicious. And from Batman's expression, he knew it too. He lunged, just as a strange rumble rushed over the roof. The box exploded, with a much smaller force than it would have if the Riddler hadn't worked with it. It wouldn't take out the city block or even the building. But it was more than enough of a blast to send the Riddler flying over the railing with a scream and Batman crashing against another railing.

Yin screamed too. _"No!"_ Her heart in her throat, she flew to the edge of the roof.

A golden cane gleamed in the moonlight, swinging by its crook from a window on the fifteenth floor. The Riddler had wrapped his arms around it and was clinging to it for dear life, his long hair blowing in the evening breeze.

"Not this time, Yinsey," he said, looking up at her. "I'm going to live."

Yin smiled in relief and joy. "And this time, we're not going to fail to save you," she said. With a glance at an equally relieved Batman, who nodded, they reached under the railing and pulled him up.

They didn't let go until he was safe and away from the edge. He knelt on the roof for what seemed a long moment, staring at the remnants of the box that could have killed him. "If I'd been standing closer, I'd probably be dead," he said.

"Or if you didn't always have that cane with you," Yin said.

"Or if you guys hadn't been here," Robin chimed in.

"That too." The Riddler looked up at Yin and Batman as he slowly got to his feet. "Thank you. Both of you."

A slight smile came over Batman's features. "This time, we weren't too late."

"And thank you, for what you did," Yin said, looking to the Riddler.

"That was one challenge I could have lived without," he admitted. He smirked. "But I must say, I'm looking forward to letting Denise know that her plan didn't work."

"Again with the arrogance," Yin sighed. She smirked too. "But this time, I'm looking forward to that right along with you."

xxxx

On the ground, Chief Rojas was tense. "What's going on up there?!" he cried. "Something blew up, but the whole building didn't go. Maybe it was a false alarm after all."

"It wasn't a false alarm," Batman said as he suddenly appeared. "There were two detonators. The second one only activated if the first was turned off. The second was meant to kill Nygma and him alone."

"Then . . . he's dead?" Rojas said slowly.

"No, Chief," the Riddler called back smoothly, twirling his cane as he exited the building. "He isn't."

"And I'm glad," Yin declared with a smile.

"I think we should all be glad," Commissioner Gordon said. "Thank you, Mr. Nygma. I know it couldn't have been easy for you to go up there. And you almost did lose your life."

"Denise Claymore underestimated me, as many others have," the Riddler said.

He looked around at the feeling of many eyes watching him. None seemed to be accusatory or unkind. Even Rojas looked grudgingly relieved. Even though he had scoffed at the idea of crime-fighting and felt that people were mostly ungrateful to the crime-fighters, tonight there was indeed gratitude.

He had never been the center of attention in this sort of way before. It was what he had hoped for and dreamed for at the university, when he had demonstrated his Bio Discs. The circumstances now were certainly different, but the principle was the same. They were looking at him with positive emotions in their eyes. Considering what he had done to achieve that, it was a surreal, strange, even humbling feeling.

Well, as humbling as Edward Nygma could get, anyway.

And for the moment, at least, the arrogance faded.

Yin came up beside him. "Like last time, you really are a hero," she smiled. "Only this time, you can actually be here to enjoy it."

"It feels . . . strange," he mused. "I never thought anyone anywhere would hail _me_ as a hero."

"Do you like it?" Yin asked.

"Yes," he said slowly. "Strangely enough, I do. But don't expect me to put my life on the line on a regular basis, like the real do-gooders in this city." He looked wryly from Yin to Batman to Robin.

Yin smiled. "I don't think any of us would expect that of you."

"Oh hey." Batgirl suddenly appeared, dropping down in front of a parked car. "You dropped this." She held out the green hat.

Raising an eyebrow, the Riddler took it. "Maybe I'll hold onto it for a while longer, then."

"Who knows," Yin said. "Maybe someday you'll decide it _does_ work for you."

He twirled it by the brim and replaced it on his head, pushing it back with his cane. "Perhaps."


	10. Epilogue

**Notes: Thank you to everyone who has been interested in this fic! It was interesting, to finally come back after six years and write the sequel I'd always meant to. And now I've ended up with an idea for another story. There are some teasers here as to some of what it will be about.**

**Epilogue**

They were standing on the sidewalk, looking up as they watched two Riddlemen adjusting the new sign.

"It's straight now," the Riddler said after a moment. "Go ahead and come down."

The Riddlemen obediently complied, and came to study it as the others were doing.

_Edward Nygma_

_Consultant and Troubleshooter_

"It looks good," Yin said with a smile.

"Just make sure it doesn't hang at an angle again," Batman grunted. "It makes too much noise then."

"And it looked sloppy besides," the Riddler supplied. "Don't worry; I plan to keep it just the way it is right now."

"Good," Yin said.

"By the way, since Denise is obviously not going to pay me, who do I see about at least collecting my consultation fee from the police?" the Riddler wondered.

Yin looked amused. "Write up a bill and we'll present it to the commissioner," she said. "But I'm warning you, Riddler, don't try to sneak in any hidden fees for weird, miscellaneous items."

"I assure you, Detective, I won't," the Riddler replied.

"Well, right now I need to get back on duty." Yin frowned. "You know, there's been some strange reports lately about things being wrong in Arkham."

"There are always things wrong in Arkham," the Riddler replied. "I could tell you some horror stories."

Yin paused. "You probably could. And I might need to pick your brain about them."

"What kinds of reports are coming in?" Batman asked.

"Prisoners being mistreated . . . experimented on, even." Yin shook her head. "It's really upsetting and appalling to think about."

"A lot of mental institutions are subject to disturbing incidents behind closed doors," the Riddler said.

"And a lot of others are aboveboard," Batman said. "Arkham's always had an iffy reputation, but I had hoped it was getting better now that Hugo Strange was out."

"I've never liked Dr. Portman as head psychiatrist either, as you know," the Riddler said. "She's very likely involved with whatever's going on there now."

"If you have any specific information about her, I'll want it," Yin said.

"Of course, Yinsey," the Riddler answered. "We'll talk about it in the office. Later, I suppose, if you have to be going."

"I could spare a few more minutes," Yin said.

"I'd like to hear this too," Batman said.

"Very well." The Riddler started to move towards the door.

"Edward?"

Everyone turned. Julie was coming towards the Riddler, hesitant and downcast and remorseful.

"Julie." The Riddler turned to face her, surprised by her sudden appearance on the scene. "I wasn't expecting to see you again."

"I know." She sighed. "I wanted to thank you for leaving Denise alive."

"It just didn't become necessary to kill her," the Riddler grunted. "We were able to wrestle her into submission."

"At least until she saw you were alive when you came back from Wayne Industries," Yin quipped. "I thought she was going to throw herself at you and try to claw you with her bare hands."

"She probably would have, if those officers hadn't restrained her," the Riddler replied. "And speaking of that, did she ever confess to killing Amy Sands and why?"

"Yes." Julie looked down. "She did that, and shot at that Crossword psycho, and set the bomb to kill you. She said the Amy person was blackmailing her about her deception. So she tricked Amy into going to the theatre for an early rehearsal and then killed her. She also dropped some sandbag from the rafters, aiming at Detective Yin."

"Just like we thought. Well, she obviously isn't all there in the head," Yin said. "She's probably going to be sentenced to Arkham instead of prison."

"I just hope they'll be able to help her," Julie sighed.

The Riddler really doubted it, but he kept quiet. Instead he said, "I still don't understand how she managed to pull off the deception without everyone in the theatre company being aware of it."

"There is one way," Batman said. "If there really was a Catherine Mitchell and Denise killed her and took her place."

Julie looked sickened. "She hasn't said anything like that happened," she said. "I guess someone will have to ask."

"I did finally find someone with a completely different name who lived in one of the bad Gotham neighborhoods," Batman said. "She was a dancer who took the name Catherine Mitchell when she joined the chorus line of a small theatre company in town. Her trail stops around the time Denise went to Nygma for help."

"Well, that's not encouraging," Yin frowned.

"And of course she was lying about someone being in her hotel room the first time I met her," Batman said. "She left the balcony door open herself and was just waiting for me to arrive. Then she pretended to think I was the 'killer' and threw a vase at me."

Julie shook her head. "I just don't know what happened to Denise," she fretted. "I mean, she was always protective, but I had no idea she was so unstable."

"Sometimes it doesn't really manifest itself for years," Batman said. "Maybe it was your being shot that pushed her over the edge."

"It seems like it, since that was what she was so upset about," Julie sighed.

"By the way, Crossword is awake," Yin said, looking to the Riddler. "He was supposed to be kind of a henchman for Denise, her way of mocking you and your Riddlemen, but when he found out all the details of what she was going to do, he didn't want to go along with it. He also didn't want to go to the police and get arrested for being involved, at least at the beginning. That was when he decided to emulate you and start leaving all those clues everywhere."

"One thing I don't understand is about Gorman's building," the Riddler said. "Denise set the bomb, but we received a puzzle piece from the Puzzlemaster about it. Was that because he knew Denise was going to put a bomb there and he was trying to let us know so we could find it before it went off?"

"That's right," Yin nodded.

"And did he reveal the piece we never figured out?" the Riddler wondered. "The first one?"

"It was supposed to read _Catherine is a Killer_," Yin reported.

"But that was for occupation," the Riddler frowned. "She wasn't an occupational killer."

"I know, and he knows, but he put that word in hoping it would eventually steer us to the right path," Yin said. "Instead we were thinking of singers and dancers. I doubt we ever would have hit on what he was thinking."

"Oh well." The Riddler looked to Julie. "Have you talked with Gorman any further?"

Julie nodded. "He told me he knew you hadn't planted the bomb in his office, but he acted out and made a scene accusing you of it just to try to make you look bad. And he still wants to sue Denise for blowing up his office, even knowing about her mental state."

"It would never hold up in court," Batman said. "Denise isn't competent to stand trial."

"He's still hoping to find a way to make her pay for repairs," Julie said.

"And what about that certain offer he made to you?" the Riddler asked. "Have you talked any more about that?"

"Some." Julie hesitated. "I really don't like that he kept pushing for me to just let Denise kill you."

"Is that why you lied and told me the wrong location where she was waiting?"

"Yes. But it still doesn't mean that I won't marry Gorman, if he'll still have me." Julie looked up at him. "Try to understand, Edward. It would give me so many more opportunities for success."

His lip curled. "And that's all you've ever truly cared about. I know, Julie, all too well. Do whatever you want, but realize that if you try to go ahead and market that second idea of mine, I won't sit back and watch."

"I know. I don't know what I'm going to do about that," Julie said. "Maybe I'll try to convince Gorman not to do it and that if nothing else, we could hopefully escape a big lawsuit. Or whatever you might try to throw at us."

"I'm sure he knows as well as you do that I can and will make a great deal of trouble," the Riddler said. "I could go public with how you stole my Bio Disc idea, now that I have a bit of credibility in town. I could ruin you both over that."

Julie flinched. "Yes, you could, and you'd probably be justified in doing it. But when you feel like that, I'm all the more grateful that you saved my life, both with Chessmaster and with Denise. Who knows what would've happened if I'd been on that roof."

She hesitated again. She wouldn't say how she had started coming out of the chloroform hearing the explosion at Wayne Industries on television and feeling sickened, certain that Edward had perished. The Riddlemen who had been staying with her had felt likewise, and they had remained saddened and downcast until they had learned that their boss was alive.

At least, Julie decided, she wouldn't have it on her conscience that she had just stood by and let Denise go ahead, as she had initially planned to do.

"I do wonder what you would have thought, had you been there and witnessed my being flung off of the roof," the Riddler said. "But it's just as well you weren't and didn't."

Julie nodded. "Anyway, that's what I came to say." She started to turn to leave. "Goodbye, Edward."

"Goodbye." _Perhaps for good this time. _He gripped his cane, watching her go, and then turned away as well. "Where were we? Ah yes, Arkham." He opened the door and stepped into his office.

Batman and Yin followed. "Riddler . . ." Yin said slowly. "Are you sure you're alright?"

He looked back to her. "I know Julie will never love me. I really don't want to even try to have anything to do with her anymore, unless it is a lawsuit. And I'm coming to terms with the idea that she's probably going to be Mrs. Charles Gorman. Yes, Detective, I'm alright."

Yin smiled quietly, encouraged. "I hope so."

"With friends like cops and bats . . ." The Riddler smirked. "I don't think I've ever been more alright."

"Friends?" Yin repeated, while Batman raised an eyebrow. They looked at each other, considered the concept, and nodded. In the past, it would have seemed preposterous to all of them, including to the Riddler. But after everything they had been through, it didn't seem such a bizarre and foreign concept. "You're right; we _are_ friends." Yin smiled again.

"And you, Batman?" the Riddler asked.

"We're not enemies," Batman replied.

"Well," Yin said, "that's a start."

xxxx

"Fascinating. Truly fascinating." The blonde woman switched off the television and leaned back, studying the now-blank screen. "I've long wondered what sort of path Mr. Nygma would choose for himself and whether he would arrive at the same knowledge I did, that his Riddler persona doesn't have to be a criminal. Of course, he still isn't entirely keeping to the law, with his thinly-veiled private detective business, but that makes him all the more intriguing than ever."

Seated in the chair on the opposite side of her desk, a slender, dark-haired man crossed his legs and smiled. "I wish I'd had the chance to perform an experiment or two on him while he was here."

"The results of your experiments are eye-opening indeed." She laced her fingers. "I certainly hope you intend to continue them. And working with me."

"My dear Dr. Portman, I've only begun to experiment," he grinned. "My next step is to take it outside the walls of Arkham Asylum. Let's find out how the citizens of Gotham will react. Maybe even the Riddler."

"Yes!" Dr. Portman's eyes gleamed. "Arkham is only the beginning. Let's see what happens when all of Gotham descends into fear and madness, one person at a time."

Their twin cackles echoed off the brick walls.


End file.
